


Principle of Superposition

by thelivingcontradiction



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Slow Burn, Undercover Mission, but also cute, if you like dense fics you should read this, it's like the utapau arc except less chase scenes and more makeouts, obikin, oc is pretty evil, plenty of angst, shower sex kind of, somebody is smuggling drugs and the jedi aren't having it, the boys take a trip to bar neth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2018-08-02
Packaged: 2018-11-15 19:55:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 68,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11238057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelivingcontradiction/pseuds/thelivingcontradiction
Summary: Obi-Wan and Anakin are sent undercover on a mission to the Outer Rim planet of Bar Neth. Originally a desert planet, the Republic sequestered its land for an experimental terraforming project. After decades of colonization, Bar Neth has become a patchwork of lush farmlands and desert remains. A fellow Jedi Master has alerted the Council of smuggled goods aboard a small craft during a routine customs evaluation at the Mid-Rim hyperspace lane border. Headed for Bar Neth, the former Master-Padawan team don their least conspicuous civilian outfits and tuck their lightsabers away in hopes of learning more about a curious band of smugglers.Things do not go as planned.





	1. Apologetic Resilience

**Author's Note:**

> Oh hey there, it's me again. Dabbling into yet another fandom because I can't help myself. The great [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) helped me edit this chapter and I am forever grateful. I haven't had a beta for my fics in a long time. 
> 
> I've been reading a lot of Karen Miller's novels, which makes me yearn for more great Obikin adventures. They don't get the opportunity to cast off their Jedi robes very often, but when they do, they still manage to stumble into sinister plots.
> 
> Let's hope they stumble into some feelings as well.
> 
> Shall we?

     Obi-Wan presses his back up against a towering pile of crates, his lip pulled up into a snarl as he moves himself out of the line of fire. His skin is caked in a layer of red-brown sand and his hair sticks to the sweat that beads on his forehead. His clothes sport a collection of scorched holes and caked blood to match the blaster wounds he’ll be feeling once the adrenaline wears off. The smoking blaster pistol in his hand draws a short huff from the man beside him.  
     

     “Yours too?” Anakin says as they lock eyes. Anakin’s curls are escaping from the lazy tie he’d pulled them back with and his cheeks are stained with carbon dust. Both of their chests were heaving to catch their breath in spite the thick smoke that rolled from the mining droid that had just exploded to their left. Anakin’s leather jacket had pockets overflowing with scraps of wire and steel tools he had probably stole from the basement of the dull steel building from which they were fleeing. He breaks Obi-Wan’s gaze to fiddle with his pistol. With a tug from the Force, the casing comes right off the side and exposes the weapon’s components.

  
     A red streak whips by just in Obi-Wan’s line of sight and he crouches down, pulling Anakin with him.

  
     “I knew we should have upgraded the plasma cartridges in these kriffing pistols before we agreed to leave Taris,” he hears Anakin whine. “This isn't going to be much of a gunfight if I have to-”

  
     A warning from the Force has Obi-Wan’s stomach lurching. “Anakin, we have to move. Now!”

  
     The man hesitates, looking down at his dismantled weapon. “I can't cover you, Master. This hunk of metal needs fifteen seconds to cool down, at least!” Panic flashes across his face as he reaches to slam the pieces of his pistol back together.

  
     “We don't have that,” Obi-Wan’s voice wavers as he wraps his arms around the man and braces himself with the Force as a grenade explodes on the opposite side of their wooden shield.

 

     The world is silent around him save the ringing in his ears. There may or may not be a piece of shrapnel lodged into his calf, and Anakin’s mouth is moving but he’s never been good at lip reading in military situations. He just blinks, trying to get the silt out of his eyes enough to see what was happening.

  
     Obi-Wan’s movements are slow, as if he’s still on Taris, wading in the muck of the swamps. The effort to shield both of them from an explosion at close range as left him weaker than he’d like to admit. Luckily, Anakin is on his feet, dragging Obi-Wan by the wrist as he takes off for a sand-blasted warehouse behind them. He can feel the life flowing through their bond, soothing the screams of pain from his right leg. He doesn’t have the time to take stock of just how bad it is yet, so he allows Anakin’s light to numb it while they’re still connected.

  
     A thermal detonator blasts the remnants of the crates into charred splinters, sending a shock wave that threatens to take his knees out. Anakin’s hand tightens around his wrist, refusing to let him fall.

  
     “We need to get out of here,” he shouts, although he can’t hear the sound of his own voice.

  
     “You think?” Anakin scoffs, his blaster hissing violently as he knocks back a masked smuggler with a targeting rifle. Obi-Wan sees the glint in the man’s eyes when they spot a rusty speeder parked near the warehouse. When Anakin turns around, the question doesn’t have to leave his mouth before Obi-Wan’s lips draw into an exasperated smile.

     “Give me your blaster. I’ll draw their fire.”

  
     A dented pistol gets tossed in his general direction as Anakin takes off for the vehicle, not even looking back. _Where is this haste when I ask him to report to the Council_ , Obi-Wan huffs in amusement. He steps to the side to avoid an incoming blaster bolt, letting himself lean against the side of a decommissioned excavator droid.

 

     Obi-Wan lets his mind wander as he sends some fire back toward the smugglers’ ground-car, opting to immobilize them until Anakin could hotwire their means of escape. _Aayla was right about this group. They’re not working alone. No ordinary criminals would go through such advanced security protocols if they weren't answering to someone else._ The glaring differences between the new blaster rifles they were using to tear holes in Obi-Wan's flesh and the decrepit ruins of the rest of the compound had initially raises some doubts.

  
     Earlier that day, he had entertained the thought that they had stolen an arms shipment, but he couldn't confirm anything before Anakin had tripped the proximity alarms on Block 62. A tall Trandoshan captain had droned on and on about the benefits of deploying their latest hunter-killer droids to the northern ranges of the TR-4 moon in order to secure one of the Republic's iridium refineries. A bold target for a small group of smugglers, in his opinion, and he wondered why they would even want iridium. His thoughts had been interrupted by the shrill cry of alarms and internally winced. _Blast it, Anakin. You've got to be more careful._

  
     The smugglers had their weapons charged, securing all the doorways to their location.

  
     "Looks like we've got an intruder, boys. Let's see if we can't smoke him out."

  
     Obi-Wan had felt Anakin before he saw him; a glowing beacon of apologetic resilience in the Force. They didn’t get the intel they needed from this particular outing, and it wasn’t easy to get out of the dark metal underbelly of the facility with only pistols. He had put the Force into a kick that sent one of the smugglers flying into a control panel, using the distraction of blowing his cover as an excuse to high-tail it out of the room. The captain had followed, searing Obi-Wan’s shoulder with a laser bolt. More smugglers had leaked out of the surrounding rooms as he sprinted through the hallways in search of an exit.

  
     One fist-fight and a concussion later, he had found Anakin on stairwell, no worse for wear it seemed. He didn’t have time to let the multitude of dead smugglers around his former padawan concern him, but it seemed as if Anakin hadn’t been gentle with his blaster.

 

     Now that he had some cover, he could see the thick-skinned captain with an assault rifle blaster cradled in his arm. The flesh on his side was exposed; a side effect of challenging Anakin to a fire-fight near some fuel tanks. He bit back a swell of joy from the vengeance on the Trandoshan, resolving to remain cold toward the whole affair. The warmth of his own blood leaking from his wounded leg forced him to swallow back a wince. Obi-Wan had more pressing issues than payback.

 

     “Find anything with enough power to get us out of here?” Obi-Wan calls behind him as two faces peek over a metal transport box to send a flurry of fire toward him. “I’ve grown tired of this exchange we’re having.” He sighs, refusing to even take the time to line up their foreheads in the iron sights before he picks them both off.

  
     “Give me a second,” he hears Anakin yell. The man looks like a proper mechanic in his plainclothes, currently underneath a beaten old speeder that promised to put up a fight against his ministrations. It was a good thing Anakin could feel his way around fifteen year old power converters, a skill from years spent tinkering on Tatooine.

  
     “Master! It’s on, let’s get the kriff out of here!”

  
     Anakin throws himself into the driver’s seat, whipping it in front of Obi-Wan as he sends one last bolt toward the enemy. “I hope the destination you have in mind doesn’t require going backward or braking of any kind,” the younger man chuckles, taking off for the exit. It earns him a raised eyebrow as Obi-Wan takes the guards out with a well-timed shot to a canister of compressed air.

     “I’m not certain you know how to use the brakes anyway, Anakin.”

  
     They meet each other’s gazes and smile, relishing in the hot breeze that blows as they leave the smugglers’ base behind them. Obi-Wan lets out a sigh when he sees that their enemies have decided not to pursue them, then starts to dig around for a medkit in the compartments of their speeder.

 

\--

  
     They’re two hours into the drive when Obi-Wan’s head starts to list to the side. He reaches out with both hands to grab at anything that will stop the spinning, the colors of the dusty brown world melting with the evening reds and purples of the sky as he loses consciousness. “Ana-” his lips refuse to form around the name.

  
     “Master, hey-” Anakin turns to watch as Obi-Wan pales and slumps over in the seat beside him. “Master?”

  
     He reaches over to feel for the man’s pulse. Faint, but still present. Anakin lets his hand rest on Obi-Wan’s arm, feeding energy into the man while he pilots the speeder with the other.

  
     When they had been briefed on Taris, Obi-Wan and Anakin had poured over some of the text relevant to Bar Neth’s history. Apparently, the planet was famous for its tourism. By the looks of it, they had only meant the capital of Seles, because they were currently surrounded by reddish sand that covered the flat terrain for as far as he could see, up until the towering mesas. He couldn’t imagine how they’d gotten any of the agricultural colonies built on this wasteland. It reminds him of Tatooine in the worst way and a pit of guilt roils in his stomach. With a roll of his shoulders, he releases what he can to the Force.

  
When he passes the first patches of grass, he knows he’s getting close to something. The five suns of Bar Neth had just vanished over the horizon, leaving the world a deepened orange. Scraggly shrubs begin to crop up in the slowing rising sides of the rocky land as it merges with the mesa. He had to admit, he’d been driving faster than Obi-Wan would have liked. It was a good thing he wasn’t awake to complain. Anakin lets his hand rub gently over Obi-Wan’s arm; whether out of habit to check on his vitals, or to indulge in his need for physical affection, he doesn’t know.

  
     Anakin could see the outlines of small buildings ahead and the frown on his lips starts to melt away slowly. “Finally, a place to rest.”

 

\--

 

     “Anakin!” Obi-Wan wakes with a scream, gasping as he takes in the-

  
     The darkness of stained wood. He was laying underneath a table? No, a desk? He blinks a couple times, turning his head to the right to find Anakin seated beside his prone body. There was warmth radiating off of him, almost to the point of pain. Obi-Wan squeezes his eyes shut as the awareness of his injuries comes flooding back. The blow to the back of his head from the stock of a heavy blaster rifle aches.The blaster burns on his arms and back are blistering more with each second, as if the heat is still melting his skin.The shard of wooden crate that was still lodged in his leg is a relentless stabbing pain. He can’t bear to move his leg at all; the slightest twitch of his toes makes him want to scream. Despite this, he tries to sit up and finds that his head hasn’t stopped spinning.

  
“You know, I almost feel bad saying this, but it was easier when you were passed out. Could you just-” he feels a hand press to his forehead, lulling him back toward the peaceful emptiness.

  
     “Where are we?” He feels himself say, rather than hears. He’s not sure why he said it. He won’t be able to hear the answer. His eyelids are getting rather heavy as Anakin’s force suggestion takes hold.

 

     “You’re safe,” Anakin whispers to him, sending waves of sleep and comfort into the remaining threads of their Force bond. “Just be quiet for a little longer.”

 

     Obi-Wan finally gives into his suggestion and blacks out. Anakin closes his eyes once more, letting the energy of the dirt and aged beams of wood be offered to him. It wasn’t often that he got to flex his mental muscles, being the Chosen One and all, but something about healing just took it out of him. _Now imagine the flow of the blood, feel the paths through which each cell twists and turns. Find the areas of lowest pressure, the leaks and the tears. Pull inward, as if you are letting two magnets attract each other slowly._ He smiles, feeling the wound on Obi-Wan’s leg start to narrow. He could feel the nerves crying out, falling on deaf ears as he pumped life in the damaged muscle tissue.

 

  
     Beside him lay the fragment of blood-coated crate and a medkit the size of a datapad. The bandages would cut down the amount of time he had to spend stealing life from the aching environment to aid Obi-Wan’s recovery. As much as he loved to breathe life into the living force of the plants and animals around him, he refused to let his master suffer. If it hadn’t of been for Obi-Wan, he would have been nursing his own wounds as well as this one. The man was always putting his life on the line for him. _That’s not very Jedi-like._ He snorts, drawing his hand away from the closed puncture wound. _Seems to me like he still sees me as a Padawan sometimes._

 

     He strips off his leather jacket and folds it up, forming a pillow to rest his head on as he lays himself down beside Obi-Wan. When the older man’s imposed sleep wore off, he was sure to get an earful of lectures about recklessness and ruining covert operations, but for now, he could allow himself a moment of peace. The sun had long since set, leaving the small town steeped in darkness. The cantina had seemed like a good place to make camp. It even had a small shack to store the speeder from any prying eyes that would pass through on their way to Seles.

  
     Anakin knew he would have to look for something to eat in the morning. They were in for a long journey back to the capital. Arriving with sallow cheeks and tattered clothes would earn them a lot of stares. At least he could try to keep them from looking starved.

  
He rolled onto his side to stare at Obi-Wan, the light of an old lantern casting a gentle orange glow on the man’s face. He looked younger when he was sleeping; less like a master and more like the man that shared citrus flavored ice treats with him in the Temple cafeteria after a long day of lightsaber training. He couldn’t help letting a soft smile tug at the corner of his lip at the sight of Obi-Wan getting restful sleep for once. Although he never admitted it out loud, Anakin knew his former master would meditate instead of sleeping most nights to avoid the nightmares. If anyone understood the terror of dreams, it was Anakin.

  
      _Let tonight be one of the dreamless nights for both of us._


	2. Expect This, I Should Have

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin are left worse for wear after their altercation with the smugglers. They have to make their way back to the capital city of Seles in order to procure some new disguises and a decent place to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Our favorite team has a lot left in store for them, but in this chapter, we see a little more of the emotions that run deep in their relationship. Anakin grasps tight to any thread of honesty Obi-Wan will share, as much as Obi-Wan would like to shut himself off from the emotions that plague his thoughts at night.
> 
> I hope you enjoy a little more fluff and stuff!
> 
> That's all I've got for you today.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by :)

     Obi-Wan blinks slowly, letting the cobwebs of forced sleep be swept away from his mind. He remembers the dizzying swirl of the room when he tried to sit up last time, so he decides to let his head twist slowly to the right in hopes of figuring out where Anakin had decided to hole up for the night without risking sudden nausea.

     There’s a pillar on this side of the room and everything seems to be made out of the same cracked dull wood. If he lets his eyes focus farther away, he can see the morning sunlight beginning to peek through a window, glinting off a collection of dusty glasses and bottles. A mirror reflects the light, highlighting the cloud of dust that hangs in the air. Obi-Wan wrinkles his nose and wishes for an instant to be back on Coruscant.

     As he looks down to the floor, he finds himself face to face with Anakin. A burnt out lantern sits beside his head, conjuring up the image of the man sitting at his side, Force-healing him late into the night. Despite the aches and pains, he rolls onto his side and allows himself to take in the sight that is Anakin Skywalker.

     It isn’t often that someone can subdue Obi-Wan enough to Force-heal him against his will, but if it has to be anyone, he is glad it is Anakin. _I’m so lucky to have him by my side._ Obi-Wan’s cheeks color at the thought and he knows he is smiling like some sort of idiot.

 

     Anakin’s eyes flutter open, greeting Obi-Wan with a sleepy grin of his own.

     “Get a good night’s rest, old man?” His voice is raspy and he reaches out to place a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. Obi-Wan can feel the way Anakin prods at the Force, taking stock of the wounds he spent all night working on.

     “Don’t bring my age into this, Anakin,” he huffs, but allows the man to continue his examination. “I’m sure I could have received a few less blaster burns if you’d been more delicate with your electrical work.”

     Anakin scoffs, pulling his hand away gently. “You didn’t see those kriffing circuits, master. It was disgusting. I could have wired them better in my sleep at the age of 2. I had to untangle the-” Obi-Wan blinks slowly, trying his best to listen as Anakin rants about the state of the smugglers’ sensor panels. He was taking Obi-Wan’s jibes too seriously again.

     Anakin is mid-way through explaining how he’d overridden the laser’s fail-safe when Obi-Wan reaches up to ruffle his curls. The man pauses, frowning as his hair is mussed like he’s a child again. _Once a padawan, always a padawan._ He bats away Obi-Wan’s hand, trying to ignore the unnatural fondness that softens the master’s normally cold gaze.

     “What’s gotten into you,” Anakin snorts, raising an eyebrow. “Did you think you were going to die or something?”

     “If it wasn’t from the giant puncture wound in my leg, it might have been from the way you were tearing across the desert in that speeder,” Obi-Wan replies, daring to raise up to a sitting position. The world doesn’t spin as much as it did yesterday, but he requires sustenance of some sort, he notices. His lips are getting quite chapped.

     “How would you know,” Anakin challenges, although the way his mouth is twitching with a smirk that gives away his attempt to bristle his old master. “You were passed out for half of it.”

     “Blood loss will do that to a man,” he chuckles, tucking his legs up underneath himself to assume a meditation pose. He closes his eyes and reaches out to the Force for the first time today, feeling the room, the building, the small town they were borrowing.

     Anakin is handing him a can of pta fruit a few minutes later, settling down beside him on the wooden floor. It is unnervingly comfortable underneath the slight cover of the bar. Obi-Wan had gleaned enough from his meditation to learn that they were in an abandoned cantina. It seemed as if no one had set foot in the building or the entire town for at least a year.

     “We’re lucky they decided to pack up without taking all of the food,” Obi-Wan says softly, but the cans trouble him. “The villagers must have had to leave without warning for them to carelessly abandon resources in a place like this.”

     Obi-Wan lifts the can to his mouth and relishes the sweet taste of expired canned fruit. Anakin has found his own can of food to pick at, choosing not to respond to Obi-Wan’s ponderings. His brows furrow as he pushes at a brown flaky meat, daring to sniff at it after a moment.

     “Would you like my fruit, Anakin?”

     The man’s head whips around to look at him. “Is this stuff supposed to be this color?”

     “Do you know what it is?” Obi-Wan asks, dipping his fingers into the juice to grab some of his soft green fruit.

     “Uh,” Anakin spins the can, looking for anything that resembles basic script. “I can’t read Nethian. So I have no idea.”

     “Why don’t you, Anakin? It can’t be that hard to decipher,” Obi-Wan quips, levitating the can out of Anakin’s hands and into his own. He looks over the label himself, taking his time.

     “Well?” The young man scoots closer to Obi-Wan, looking over his shoulder as if it will show him the perspective he needs to understand. Obi-Wan is still turning the can in his hands slowly and stroking his beard. “Well?” He repeats.

     Obi-Wan looks at him out of the corner of his eye and fails to suppress the rumbling laugh that bubbles out of his mouth.

     “You don’t know either!” Anakin snatches the can back. “Blast it, Obi-Wan.”

     He’s laughing even harder. _However will we get back to the city,_ he thinks to himself as he brushes their shoulders together.

     “Have some of mine,” he offers as he sets the can of pta on the man’s knee. Anakin doesn’t hesitate to pluck one of the fruit pieces out and scarf it down. They take turns sipping the juice as second sun takes to the sky.

 

\---

     Once the third of five suns has crossed the horizon, Anakin helps Obi-Wan to his feet and they head out to the speeder.

     “Do we know where we’re going?” He questions as Anakin shuts the decaying doors of the storage shack. “Seles should be toward the northern portion of this landmass, if I remember correctly.”

     “We’re about halfway there.” Anakin climbs into the speeder and revs the engine.

     “Now Anakin, we need to conserve battery power if we’re going to make it all the way to the city. If you’re accelerating unnecessarily, we’re certain to be walking the last few kilometers on foot.”

     “Yes, Master.”

     Obi-Wan is blown back into his seat by the force of their departure. The surrounding wooden cabins of the unnamed town become brown blurs in his peripheral vision and his fingers dig into the cracked armrests of the speeder’s seat.

     “Anakin!”

     “Yes, Master?”

     “Remind me when we get back to Coruscant that I need to put an end to pod-racing so that future generations won’t have your desires for such thrills.”

     “It’s not that bad, Obi-Wan.”

     “Yes, it is. Slow down.”

     “I respectfully decline.”

     “Anakin.”

     “Obi-Wan,” Anakin laughs, wiggling the steering rods back and forth.

     “Sith hells, Anakin. I will open the door and let myself fall out of this vehicle if you don’t mind yourself.”

 

     Anakin slows the speeder considerably, huffing in defeat. “What happened to Happy Obi-Wan back at the cantina?”

     “I’m convinced you drugged me back there.”

     “Or maybe you just had a decent amount of sleep for once,” Anakin suggests softly, leaving the vestiges of their bickering in the trail of dust kicked up by the speeder. They meet each other’s gazes and Obi-Wan’s shields start to form up around himself. Anakin rolls his eyes with a look that says, " _Knock it off,"_ but accepts that the discussion is over for now and focuses instead on the road in front of them. Hopefully Yoda will have some decent identities lined up for them this time around. The warehouse full of smugglers with seventh edition DL-51 blaster rifles and thermal detonators had only left him with more questions.

\---

     “News you bring, Skywalker?” Yoda’s transmission flashes into view. “Not long has it been since you arrived on Bar Neth.”

     “Yes, Master Yoda.” Anakin leans forward, hoping to block the holo from the prying eyes around the Lower Seles Terminal. Much to their dismay, they had arrived in the outskirts of Bar Neth’s capital at the same time as a train carrying hundreds of workers. Judging from the coating of black soot on their clothes and skin, they seem to be on their way home from the industrial sector of Lower Seles. _So much for being inconspicuous._

     Obi-Wan rests up against the transparisteel sides of the comm box, nursing one of the blaster burns on his arm. Anakin had used the last of his Nethian coins to buy them time at the public terminal’s holocomm, and he may have performed some minor adjustments to the outbound transmission signature in order to get it off Bar Neth without being monitored. It wasn’t every day that he was thwarting the Republic’s security systems, but if this mission had brought anything to light, it was the ability of the Outer Rim planets to fall into the wrong hands.

     “It appears as if the smugglers are being funded by an outside source,” Anakin says, hoping to skip the part where they barely escaped with their lives.

     “More information you will need, to solve this mystery,” Yoda hums, looking to his side. “And tell me you will, why you are not contacting me from your personal communicators?”

     Anakin holds Yoda’s gaze. “I thought it would compromise our cover, so I dismantled it once we arrived on the planet.”

     “What he means is, ‘I dropped it in the basement of the smugglers’ warehouse after I set off every proximity alarm in the facility and left my master for dead,’” Obi-Wan chimes in, leaning over Anakin’s shoulder. “We’re in need of some new identities, I’m afraid.”

     “Expect this, I should have.”

 

     Yoda disappears, leaving the connection open. Anakin takes a hand and drags it down his face, giving Obi-Wan a side-eyed glance. Obi-Wan grins.

     “Oh Anakin, we would have had to ask him eventually anyway.” He points a finger toward the ever-counting timer in the lower lefthand corner of the screen behind the empty holo. “We only have five more minutes before I have to go scrounging for loose change in the streets.”

     “Master Yoda, we-uh, need to be on our way now,” he calls out, hoping to draw the old master back into frame.

 

     It’s another two minutes before Yoda finally returns, a small smirk on his face. “Have new identities for you both, I do.”

     “Wonderful, Master. We will be returning-”

     “Obi-Wan, are you familiar with Sib Mihail?”

     “The botanist?”

     Yoda gives a small nod. “A leader in his field. Become him, you must.”

     “And what about Anakin?”

     Yoda was still wearing a smirk, which frankly set Obi-Wan on edge. “I will send a messenger with the remaining details. To this address, you two must go.”

     Yoda gives them a set of coordinates and bids them farewell. Anakin raises an eyebrow once the holo has disappeared. A long-necked Rakartian is already behind them, sending empty threats with a slurred attempt at Basic. Obi-Wan watches as his former Padawan bites his lip to hold back a response he knows would have been seething. Ever since they’d reached Seles, Anakin had been a coiled ball of energy. The Force roiled within him and around him, forcing Obi-Wan to shield himself from their bond during the search for a suitable holo terminal. Anakin isn’t meeting his eyes when they leave the station, and the trend continues once they find their speeder has been stolen from the litter-strewn lot outside the main entrance.

     Lower Seles still contains the remnants of the planet’s desert roots; void of any green except the occasional passing Rodian. Patchwork awnings cover the doors to dilapidated taverns and shops with broken windows. The sun beats down on the cracking ferrocrete beneath their feets as the two men make their way toward the location Yoda had given them. Anakin kicks at a rock, sending it unnaturally far for a human. Obi-Wan itches to ask what is on the man’s mind, but the way he sighs every other breath tells him that now isn’t the best time to pick at Anakin’s mind.

     As soon as they step into the shade of the small hotel’s entryway, Obi-Wan laughs. An elderly lady is manning the check-in desk and a small creature eerily similar to a falcon without feathers is pecking at the grey hairs piled atop her head. He stands back and admires the menagerie of figurines and carved medallions that line the wooden cases against the walls. She had to be a collector of some sort, he thinks as his eyes are drawn to a piece toward the back of a shelf. A poor replica of the ancient Korriban testaments gives Obi-Wan cause to raise an eyebrow. Much to his dismay, Anakin has already procured the keys to a room on the third floor of the building and beckons him with a tug at his shields.

     Anakin is already turning and heading up the stairs when Obi-Wan follows, nodding to the lady as he passes. She blinks and returns to her work. However Yoda had found this place, it was certainly one of a kind. He hopes it has more than rickety floorboards for beds, and he isn’t wrong, although it’s not much more.

 

\--

     Anakin turns the handle on the faucet of the refresher only to find that it drips no more than a sip of water before it peters out. He slams his hand against the lightswitch, leaving the disappointing sink in darkness. He knows he cracked it seconds before he even touches it, but he can’t bring himself to reign in his strength. There was a cloud of something that hung over the hovels of Lower Seles, and although he can’t quite place it yet, it pulses through his veins. Obi-Wan seems unaffected, if only slightly perturbed by Anakin’s attitude.

     He lets his body fall onto the bed in a spineless fashion. The springs of the mattress whine against his weight. _Typical._

     “We don’t have water, Obi-Wan. The sand-it’s everywhere.”

     Obi-Wan is standing in the doorway, resting his head against the trim. “You’re not telling me you’ve been in this mood because of the sand, are you?”

     “Maybe,” he admits, although it wasn’t the only thing on his mind. “Don’t you feel it though? It’s just-” he gives up on the ill-defined fog that presses against his mind.

     “Do I feel the sand?” Obi-Wan chuckles, brushing some of it from his hair for good measure. “Of course.”

     Anakin is finally looking at him since they left the holo terminal, his eyes cold despite the warmth that pours off Obi-Wan.

     “If you’re talking about this place,” he continues, gesturing toward the room. “Yes, I feel it too. We’re getting ourselves into trouble again, I fear.” He takes a seat beside Anakin, looking down at him through sweat-crusted tangles of auburn hair.

 

     Obi-Wan undresses slowly, taking care to avoid the crusting scabs on his shoulders from the blaster burns. He finds Anakin behind him, lifting the woven shirt from his grasp before he can continue to struggle. His chin drops to his chest, letting Anakin’s hands hover over his bare back. The Force glows against him, burning just hot enough to force his eyes shut. He can feel the way his skin responds to the healing caress of the Force and lets out a soft sigh.

     “I couldn’t get to them yesterday when you were lying down,” he hears Anakin mutter. Obi-Wan decides to keep his lips pressed shut, but allows himself to feel at their bond. It quivers with Anakin’s concern; his frustrations about something Obi-Wan couldn’t see. He responds with unabashed gratitude and reassurance before he feels Anakin’s hands drift away from his skin. Obi-Wan immediately aches for the warmth again, now that the suns of Bar Neth have retreated, leaving the city of Seles in darkness once more.

     He watches Anakin strip off his leather jacket and boots, as well as his tattered shirt. He’s underneath the flimsi-thin sheet quickly. Obi-Wan remains at the end of the bed, drifting into a shallow meditative state. He lifts a finger to flick off the lamp beside the bed and leaves his mind to reach out unhindered to the Force.

 

     He doesn’t know how much time has passed before a foot prods at his backside. _Probably kicking in his sleep again._ Obi-Wan almost misses the accompanying thought that passes through the space between them.

 

_It’s late. Come to bed._

 

     He doesn’t move. It had been almost sufficient while he was meditating. He wouldn’t have needed to sleep at all.

 

_I refuse to put you in a trance again._

 

     He tips his head slightly, but from what he can see by the faint glow of the streetlamp outside the tiny window of their room, Anakin’s eyes are still closed.

 

_I can't sleep either, but at least I'm trying._

 

     Obi-Wan hesitates, eyes lingering on the empty space beside Anakin and the terrors it promises to bring. He finds himself twirling a loose thread in his fingers to keep his hands from shaking.

 

     “Don’t be stupid. You can’t look like death tomorrow when we’re pretending to be people that weren’t the focus of a smuggler’s blaster fire,” Anakin’s voice bites into the darkness.

It’s enough to rouse Obi-Wan from his seat on the edge of the bed. He climbs onto his side, but not before sending his pillow to smack Anakin on the head. Anakin’s eyes open in surprise and shoot him a glare that softens once he realizes that he has won this particular battle.

     They lie in silence for a few minutes, although they can feel each other’s presences refusing to soften with sleep.

     “So, a botanist.”

     “I thought you wanted me to go to sleep, Anakin.”

     “Well it doesn’t seem like it’s happening anytime soon,” his voice cracks softly as he rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling. “I know you don’t sleep most nights.”

     “We’re not having this discussion right now,” Obi-Wan huffs, still on his side, gazing out the window into the night.

 

     “I could help.”

     “Anakin,” his voice wavers. “Not right now.”

     “Master.”

     “It’s just the same things we all have nightmares about, Anakin. People dying. Explosions. Pain that never ends. We’re in the middle of a war. It’s to be expected that we will sustain mental and emotional damage as a cost of victory.”

 

     Anakin is silent then.

 

     But as the distance threatens to stretch between them, he reaches out a hand and places it between Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades. The last thing he remembers is the rhythm of the man’s chest as it rises and falls, lulling them both into a restless sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man, do you feel how I feel about these two sharing a bed? Fuck me up.
> 
> As always, a thank you to [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) for proofreading and giving me all of the guidance I need to make my story come to life! They're the best, and you've probably already read their stories, but if not, go check out [The Black Bird Sings](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11185164/chapters/24972414)!


	3. "Business Partners"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin have to get the hell out of Lower Seles before they turn to dust like the rest of the city.
> 
> A Zygerrian arrives to escort them to a temporary safe haven and the men figure out a detail of their assignment that Yoda had failed to mention.

     A Zygerrian woman raps softly on their bedroom door and Anakin has to swallow back the bile that rises in his throat. He stands in nothing but a worn out pair of denim pants, the door open just far enough to ensure that she can see his look of utter disgust.

     “We’ll be with you in a moment,” his voice is curt. He turns to look at Obi-Wan, still wrapped up in the measly brown sheet and hovering on the edge of wakefulness. _It is too early for this._ He shuts the door in her face.

     His bare feet barely make a sound as he walks over to crouch down beside the bed.

     “Obi-Wan,” Anakin whispers. “Master, wake up.”

     A pair of steel blue eyes greet him in an instant with a pair of furrowed brows to match. A soft groan escapes the man as he rolls onto his back. “That time already?”

     Anakin takes a glance out the window behind him to find a sky barely hinted with blues and oranges. The first of the suns was on its way up and they had only been asleep for a few hours. He can still feel the muscles in his neck protesting against movement as he turns back to look at his tousled companion. Anakin stands to make his way over to the corner where he threw his leather jacket last night in a moment of emotional weakness. He still feels an oppressive fear creeping into the otherwise peaceful darkness of Lower Seles at dawn. Shrugging on his jacket, he looks to grab Obi-Wan’s clothing but there isn’t anything left.

     “You slept in your clothes again?”

     Obi-Wan chuckles softly, running his hands down the wrinkled and scorched front of his once-white cotton shirt.  “Looks like it.”

     “Please tell me you took your boots off,” Anakin huffs, sitting down on the uneven floor to strap his own boots back on. He looks back to see Obi-Wan holding up his own pair, giving him a raised eyebrow. “Oh thank the Force. Sometimes I just don’t get how you can sleep like that. It’s so-” he gestures with his hands, unable to find the word he wants.

     “Convenient?”

     “Constricting,” he settles on a word, tugging at the last strap on his boot. “Must be a Temple youngling thing.”

 

     They meet the Zygerrian woman, whom he learns is named Galira, in the entryway on the ground floor. She’s a local on Bar Neth; a friend of the Jedi and a confidential contact within the Bar Nethian government. Galira guides them out to a black hard-top speeder that seems incredibly out-of-place in the derelict streets of Lower Seles. Although fast, if its model number is any indication. Anakin bristles at the thought of Yoda knowingly putting them in such a run-down inn when Obi-Wan had been so injured, but allows the feeling to wither away as they ride at top speed through the dusty city.

     Galira’s eyes track across the road as she drives, gesturing with one clawed hand about Yoda’s decision to request her expertise for their new assignment. Both men nod, familiar with the need for assistance when so far away from the Temple on Coruscant. It came in handy to have allies in the Outer Rim and Galira was no exception.

     Anakin drags a finger nail across the back of his hand and it comes away with a thick layer of silt, ash, and dried blood. He can feel Obi-Wan watching him; can feel the way he winces inwardly at the way his stiff clothes brush against his wounds. It seems as if they’ll get a chance to access proper medical supplies when they arrive at their destination, but until then, Anakin sends a gentle tug of encouragement through their bond. It is the least he can do after Obi-Wan had acquiesced into getting some sleep, if only for a few hours.

     Obi-Wan blinks and turns away, hiding his smile with a well-timed stroke of his beard.

 _This is new._ It was almost as if he was embarrassed of something. Anakin feels the beginnings of a joke on his tongue, but the quiet hum of the speeder is the only sound amidst an otherwise silent journey; it almost feels too surreal to break for a poorly timed jab at his old master. He settles on leaning his head against the window, watching the rows of identical apartment towers go by as they make their way north. Eventually, the sky gives way to oranges and yellows and the sandblasted hovels are replaced by astutely carved stone archways and ornate dwellings that seems to sprawl in every direction.

     Anakin catches a glimpse of one of the high-speed trains as it glides by on a track that rises above many of the towers around them.

     “The architecture of the bridge resembles that of the aqueducts on Jedha, don’t you think, Anakin?”

     He huffs through his nose. “No way. Definitely more like the ones on Tipho 7. The masonry is what gives it away.”

     “When did you ever get over to that part of the galaxy?” Obi-Wan scoffs, twisting away from the window to give Anakin a pointed look.

     “Didn’t have to. It’s obvious. We learned about it in our classes on ancient civilizations of the Outer Rim, master,” he lingers on the honorific.

     He hears Galira chuckle from the front seat. “The young man is right, I’m afraid. The architects that designed Upper Seles were infatuated with the stone carvings of Tipho 7, as well as the art of balancing city structures with nature, an idea I believe they got from Naboo.”

     Obi-Wan doesn’t look over to see the absolute victory that is written on Anakin’s face, but he knows the man can sense it.

     As the speeder slows its approach, a fountain comes into view and reminds Anakin of just how little they’ve had to drink in the past 48 standard hours. The water that spewed from the sculpted center of the fountain was a thoughtless extravagance when the outskirts of Seles reminded him so much of Tatooine. His throat is parched nonetheless. He thinks that the people of Lower Seles could use some of the water that their northern neighbors are so carelessly flaunting.

     Anakin could still remember the way the sands of his homeworld would suck every last drop of moisture out of a being’s body if they weren’t careful. It was like that here too. The memories start to boil up inside him and he doesn’t notice Obi-Wan is resting a hand on his shoulder, whispering for him to hop out of the speeder, until the man is prodding at his shields out of concern. He slides out of the speeder and mutters an empty apology as he follows Galira into the high-rise building that overlooks the borough center.

 

\---

     “So, who is this Sib guy anyway?” Anakin asks from the bathtub. Galira had given them the morning to clean themselves up and get acquainted with their new identities. Obi-Wan splits his attention between trimming his beard in the mirror and scrolling through the datapad of information Yoda had compiled for them.  

     “A botanist from Dubrillion. Currently stationed on Coruscant doing research concerning the life cycle of the Benent tree.”

     “Never heard of it,” he watches as Anakin scrubs at his arms with a synthwoven sponge. It takes a moment for Obi-Wan to realize that he’s staring, but thankfully Anakin doesn’t notice the extra attention. The bubbles turn brown as Anakin runs the sponge along his shoulder, revealing the tan skin he had somehow retained all these years away from the Tatooine suns. The man’s cheeks are flushed from the heat of the bath and Obi-Wan forces himself to turn back to the mirror. His eyes are reflecting back shame at the way his body aches with a hunger he hasn't felt since his Padawan days. His flesh betrays him, but his mind is not as vulnerable. His disgust is gone with a blink, covered by the well-worn mask of a master Jedi.

     “What’s a Benent tree anyway?”

     Obi-Wan wants to know the very same thing, which leads him to continue his skim over the past literature on the obscure plant species. “It says here that it is endemic to the planet of Devaron and is rumored to have some form of sentience.” His eyes land on a picture and from what he can tell, it looks exactly like any other tree. “It’s curious. It doesn’t strike me as particularly alive,” he turns to show Anakin the datapad and is met with the sight of his former Padawan, dripping wet and without an ounce of modesty about his body.

     “For Force’s sake, Anakin. Warn a man when you’re going to get out of the bath,” Obi-Wan hisses, holding up the datapad to shield his eyes.

     “Don’t be a prude, master,” he hears Anakin chuckle, but his eyes are squeezed shut from the initial wince so he doesn’t see the man approach him. Obi-Wan can’t help but feel the warm glow that radiates from Anakin. _He’s glad to be without the layers of sand on his skin._ Said young man was using a finger to push the datapad from its position in front of Obi-Wan’s face and he risks a peek out of his right eye to see what Anakin could possibly be planning. _He’s still nude. Force help me._ And he is smirking, as if he takes pleasure in the red flush on Obi-Wan’s cheeks.

     “They gave us robes for a reason.”

     “Oh hush, like you’ve never seen my bare ass before, Obi-Wan.”

 

     A few minutes later, Obi-Wan finds himself without his robe, his arms raised to allow Anakin to get a closer look at the blaster burn on his ribcage. He sighs; his only comfort the fact that Anakin has a towel wrapped around his waist now. His fingers tingle from being elevated for such a long time, but Anakin is delicately applying a bandage over the salve-covered burn and the least he can do is stand still. Obi-Wan doesn’t let it slip that he’s in pain until Anakin’s fingers ghost over the sealed cut on his calf. Anakin’s eyes flash up to meet his own, a grimace of regret flashing across his face. He can feel the way Anakin’s fingers heat with the power of the Force as he tries to dull the aches that remain.

     Anakin’s hands are brushing across his legs, and although Obi-Wan knows he’s only feeling for disruptions in his skin, disruptions in the Force, he can’t help the way his heart flutters at the touches he’s afforded. The hands are passing over his hips as Anakin examines his back and he holds back a shiver. It doesn’t cross his mind that the young man could be enjoying this until two fingers run down his spine while Anakin’s other hand applies more of the burn salve to Obi-Wan’s shoulder blades. The heat that swells in the Force around them almost chokes Obi-Wan when he reaches at their bond. A shiver threatens to run through his body as Anakin’s fingertips ghost over his skin as if he’s tracing shapes. Anakin remains calm with only a faint smile on his face, but Obi-Wan can feel the affection spilling from behind the man’s shields and it has him gripping the edge of the sink as if his life depends on it. He will not let mere sensations draw him into the desire for physical contact. He will not respond to attachment.

 

     And yet he feels lost when Anakin steps away.

 

     They don’t make eye contact as Obi-Wan shrugs his robe back on.

 

\---

     “You never told me your new name,” Obi-Wan mentions over the cup of tea and plate of fruit-speckled biscuits Galira had so graciously provided. “Are you a fellow scientist of some sort?”

     Anakin fiddles with the pair of gold-rimmed glasses he’d found among the selection of accessories in the Zygerrian’s closet. “The name’s Devon Aristides. Top of my class at one of those expensive Coruscanti universities, with a penchant for designing machinery. Looks like Yoda wasn’t confident in my covert operation skills after the whole smuggler thing. The guy sounds just like me.”

     “Are you really going to wear those glasses?” Obi-Wan is raising an eyebrow at him as if it was a farfetched idea. The roundness of the frames plays well against his sharp features, if he dares to say so himself. “And stop staring at yourself in every reflective surface,” Obi-Wan swats at his hand. “Vanity is not a good trait for a Jedi.”

     “Good thing we’re not playing Jedi,” Anakin chides. “I’m the apprentice of the man who designed the automated machines in the agricultural refineries, by the way. Not as cool as your botany gig,” he laughs. “But close.”

     “I think it was a decent bet to make me the life-scientist. Qui-Gon taught me a thing or two about the plants we came across on our otherwise boring missions of diplomacy.”

     “Was that before or after you incited a rebel uprising?”

     Obi-Wan picks off a piece of one of the biscuits and bites down softly as he looks off into the corner of the room in thought.

     “After, if I recall correctly. Seems as if Master Jinn was searching for hobbies I could take up that wouldn’t lead to my involvement in planetary disputes.”

     Anakin snorts, shaking his head and grabbing a biscuit for himself. “How do those identities explain why we’re showing up in Upper Seles together, though?” He scratches his head as he scrolls through his own collection of empirical data analyses of a variety of alloys. “I don’t see it, honestly.”

     “Business partners?” Obi-Wan suggests, crossing his legs while he takes a sip of his tea. ‘Yoda seems to have left that part up to us.”

 

     “Master Jedi,” Galira returns into the small circular room they were seated in. “I’m afraid we’ll have to be on our way soon. I made a few alterations to your current ship’s landing permit so that you are free to leave at any time while disguised. There should be no traces of your actual identities left in our records.” She reaches into the pouch at her side and reveals Anakin’s lightsaber. “I believe this belongs to you, Knight Skywalker.”

     He takes it from her quickly, but the suspicion that shows on his face is enough for Galira to speak once more.

     “Your droid insisted that I give these to you, once Master Yoda and myself informed him that he cannot leave the spaceport.”

     Anakin releases the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Of course R2 is alright; hasn’t fallen into enemy hands or gotten himself into trouble. Obi-Wan receives his lightsaber as well. The two men roll the familiar metal hilts in their hands before tucking them into the pouches designed to press them close to their ribcages, invisible to detectors that searched for metal or radiation from power crystals. It is a slight discomfort to have his lightsaber digging into his skin when he bends over, but after fighting with only a blaster, Anakin is thankful for its presence.

     Galira begins to draw the silk curtains to hide their room from the glaring quintet suns outside. “Are you acquainted with the roles you will be assuming?” She asks, the way she glides across the room reminding Anakin of the Zygerrian queen that had held them against their will. He feels the way his stomach twists at the thought of not only the slavers, but Ahsoka.

     Obi-Wan’s fingers twitch in response to the sudden disturbance in the Force and tries to meet Anakin’s gaze, but he directs his discomfort toward the floor. Anakin knows he shouldn’t still have a gaping hole where his Padawan should be; it isn’t the Jedi way to linger, to grieve. At some point, he is going to have to deal with the betrayal that continued to fester in his mind.

 _Now is not the time._ His mind and Obi-Wan’s gaze echo the same warning.

     “Humor me for a moment, if you will, Galira,” he hears Obi-Wan begin. “How are the two of us supposed to have gotten acquainted? Is it a known fact or have we just met on the journey to Bar Neth?”

     Galira’s ears perk up with amusement and she brings a hand up to hide the giggle that spills from her lips. “Maybe this will clear up some of the mystery.” She hands Obi-Wan a folded piece of cardstock. Anakin can’t read the contents, but the detailed design of embossed golden leaves captures his interest. Obi-Wan’s brow is furrowed and he offers the card to Anakin dismissively.

     I’m afraid that I’m still at a loss,” his master has uncrossed his legs, settling both feet on the floor and leaning his elbows onto the table between the rounded stools they’d seated themselves on.

 

_Distinguished Dr. Sib Mihail,_

 

_You have been cordially invited to tour the state-of-the-art facilities of Bar Neth’s Institute for Agricultural Discovery and its adjacent manufacturing plants. Exceptional growth in our exportation of goods to the surrounding systems of the Outer Rim has given us the opportunity to expand our reach to new planets in need. As a contributor to the success of the Republic’s terraformation of Seles and surrounding colonies, we are honored to host you as well as any guest of your choice. In celebration of the full moon, a gala for yourself and other dignified galactic leaders is to be held at the Taman Emas Hotel. Please allow us to provide you with accommodations at Taman Emas for the duration of your stay._

_We hope you will consider our offer to join us for such a spectacular event._

 

_-Tmela Avós_

 

     Anakin has to agree. Although he knows they will be going on a tour of the facilities here on Bar Neth on the off-chance any Separatists attended the event, he doesn’t see anything that would indicate the nature of the relationship between Sib and Devon. He tosses the invitation into the center of the table with a huff.

     Galira is still struggling to reign in her amusement at the whole situation and Anakin can feel the annoyance begin to roll off of him in waves.

     “In this case, _Sib_ , your reputation has preceded you. Within the scientific community, you’re known to be quite licentious.”

     Obi-Wan chokes on his tea. “I beg your pardon?”

     “If I’m not mistaken, Master Kenobi, Knight Skywalker is supposed to be,” she pauses to look at both of them, her uncomfort given away by the twitching of her whiskers. “Your lover?”

 

     Obi-Wan lets out a groan, letting his face fall into his hands. Anakin just blinks slowly, his lips pulling up into a soft smile. _This might be more fun than I thought._

 

     He can see his former master’s ears turning a delightful shade of red, which makes him look forward to the afternoon even more than before. There is no doubt that Obi-Wan is uncomfortable with mutual displays of affection regardless of the companion, which Anakin wishes to prey upon. Anakin has the advantage of sharing touches and kisses with his favorite senator regularly. That part will be simple.

     Despite his joy at the opportunity to embarrass his master, Anakin feels a twinge of guilt at the memory of his wife, Padme. She is still holding a conference on Naboo; a job she’s been working on for months. Anakin hasn’t spoken to her via comm a single time since they parted ways, and it hadn’t been on good terms. Tensions are running high between them as Anakin’s responsibilities weigh heavier upon his shoulders. He had expected her to understand his feelings, but as she ushered him out of her apartment that night, he had felt a wall start to rise between them. _She doesn’t have time to deal with my emotional baggage, my failings as a Jedi, the frustrations of being a pawn of the Council._ Anakin lets his mind run through the list of worries and it leaves him feeling cold and empty.

     As much as he tries to ignore it, Anakin’s heart aches with the desire to be close to someone. He misses the feeling of pressing his lips to Padme’s skin as he takes in the beauty of her delicate body. He misses gentle hands running through his hair while he dozes on his wife’s lap. And the seed of guilt grows into a bloom that tickles his insides when he thinks of how he’d touched Obi-Wan earlier. _I shouldn’t let my loneliness get the better of me. I hope I was shielding well enough._ Otherwise, Obi-Wan may have-

     Anakin returns to the present to view Obi-Wan’s mortified expression and realizes that no, he had not shielded well enough at all.

 

     He gives Obi-Wan a sheepish grin as he scratches the back of his head. _I’m going to be telling a lot of lies today, to whoever we meet and to you, Master._

 

\---

 

     Light-years away, Yoda is falling out of his evening meditation to laugh softly to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams*
> 
> I feel like I pour over these words for way longer than I should. I just want to make sure everything is clear and cohesive and gahhhhhhh
> 
> Thanks as always to [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) for editing, proofreading, and questioning everything that I spew onto the page.
> 
> Next up: Our boys try out their disguises and things get 10x more awkward


	4. Rich  Man with a Boy Toy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan and Anakin arrive at Taman Emas, the golden hotel at the most northern point of Upper Seles. Briefly entranced by the gardens that surround and invade the hotel, our boys get to know the place they'll be calling home for a few days. 
> 
> They also get to meet some of the inebriated guests!
> 
> It's not quite time for the gala yet, but they do get to try out their disguises a bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too long agonizing over this chapter. I have so many things I want to explore with these two, but it can't happen too fast.
> 
> Obi-Wan and Anakin don't get sent on undercover missions very often because they're high profile Jedi Knights. This is new ground for them from a professional point of view as well as an emotional point of view. We'll explore both, shall we?
> 
> See you at the end!

 

     It’s past midday when they arrive at the hotel described in the invitation from Tmela Avos. It towers above them, an impressive building amidst all of the others built by the most affluent of Nethians. As they approach the main entrance, pools of shimmering clear water split on either side of a small pillar-raised rotunda. Obi-Wan lets his eyes wander to the gardens that surround either side of them, testing his limited knowledge of plant taxology to himself. _Best to get into character before we meet anyone of importance._ He walks to the edge of the smooth stone pathway to bend down and stroke the dark green leaves of a plant he can’t place by looks alone.

    The soft blue shirt he’d received from Galira was a blessing against his damaged skin; quite thin to accommodate for the heat of a Seles day. He rolls up the sleeves and draws closer to the mysterious plant, running a finger up the stems and over the small yellow blooms.

     Anakin continues for a few steps before realizing that he’s lost his companion. Obi-Wan can hear his soft footsteps approaching; twitches slightly at the way his hand comes to rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. His resignation to the whole “lovers” idea didn’t mean he was any more comfortable with the idea of physical displays of affection, regardless of the nature of their true relationship.

     Anakin bends down beside him but doesn’t ask any questions. It was a stark contrast to their previous endeavors. The way the taller trees cast shade onto the pathway leave them enclosed; a brief moment of privacy from the bustling city outside the garden walls.

     “It’s a dune lily,” Anakin’s voice is barely above a whisper; a warmth in it that blends with the afternoon. “I used to see them on Tatooine all the time.”

     Obi-Wan just smiles, standing back up. Anakin follows suit, dropping his hand from its place on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You know, I rarely say this to your face for fear of stroking your ego, but you are incredibly smart.”

     Anakin’s cheeks color and he scratches the back of his neck. A deep chuckle comes from Obi-Wan’s chest and he resists the urge to continue flattering his former Padawan. It is endearing to see the way he blushes whenever someone notices one of his inherent traits; ones that don’t come from being a Jedi.

     “We should head inside,” Anakin offers up, a smile spreading on his face in response to his master’s laughter. “Don’t want to keep Tmela waiting.”

     “You just want to run your hands through the fountains up ahead,” Obi-Wan chides as they walk up to the entryway. The stone path gives way to an intricate pattern of tiles; reds and browns that pay tribute to the sands that cover Bar Neth, but contrast with it in their smoothness. The ode to nature continues once they cross the threshold into the foyer of Taman Emas. Pillars of white stone support balconies that crop out from the sides of the walls, overlooking a waterfall that pours from the third floor and into a deep pond. Colors flicker from underneath the water; orange and white fish swim near the rocky borders of the shallow edges. The tile leads them straight to the water and he feels Anakin’s urge to dip his feet into the pond.

     An elder gentleman with deep brown skin and thick grey hair approaches them slowly, as if he is used to guests dawdling in the entryway.

 

     Obi-Wan turns to address him. “Hello, sir. Tmela Avos requested our attendance,” he bows slightly in a greeting.

     “Of course, gentlemen. You must be Sib Mihail.”

     Obi-Wan keeps his shoulders broad and his lips curled into a hint of a smirk. “You are correct. And this is my companion, Devon.”

     “A pleasure for you to join us, Devon,” the man reaches out to shake Anakin’s hand. “May our attendants take care of your luggage for you? Your rooms will be ready shortly,” the old man gestured toward the clean-shaven Mirian men in tailored navy uniforms that blended into the shadows of the stone pillars of the wide foyer.

     Obi-Wan gives him a polite smile. “Ah yes, that would be most appreciated. We left everything in our speeder outside of the gardens.”

     He watches as the man nods and two of the nearest attendants make for the entryway to the gardens. Anakin raises his eyebrows in surprise, but keeps himself silent. _They are certainly efficient._ The clerk remains next to them, his arms clasped behind him in a stance meant to seem open and ready to serve, but his eyes are dancing across Obi-Wan’s frame, taking in details of his hair color, eyes, height, and skin markings as a means of identifying him. Obi-Wan could feel his scrutiny without aid from the Force. He had no doubt that the man was memorizing as much as he could in case Sib Mihail happened to be a thief. They had a moment of silence before the man’s eyes flickered back to his pleasant persona.

     “There is an afternoon tea session for our distinguished guests in the Alam courtyard, if you would care to join them?”

     “It sounds delightful, actually.” Obi-Wan feels Anakin tighten in anticipation of meeting the first of many suspicious characters. The clerk leads them away from the pond, taking them down a polished stone hallway lit with golden sconces and beckoning them with a cool breeze.

     “I don’t believe I caught your name, sir,” Anakin finally speaks, falling in step with the old man.

     “Noh Tersem, head attendant of the Taman Emas, at your service,” a true smile spreads across his face as he brings them to a transparisteel door that separates them from a covered garden milling with species from across the galaxy. “Enjoy your afternoon, gentlemen.”

 

\---

     Obi-Wan is in the corner of the courtyard, partially hidden by the fronds of a broad-leaf palm tree as he chats with a Xiriti male with decorated braids that fall over his shoulders. Anakin can feel a steady lull of his master’s presence and he seems comfortable, so he lets his guard down slowly and opens his mind to the conversations around him. He needs to begin acquainting himself with the other guests, even if some of them are revolting only by the sound of their voices amongst the hum of party chatter. _And it won’t hurt to play at our “lovers” disguise while we’re at it._

     It takes a few minutes before he hones in on a debate suitable for his disguise as Devon Aristides; a discussion of energy crises on a small rocky planet that Galira’s datapad had informed him of during their briefing this morning. Anakin makes his move. He shifts away from his relaxed stance against a palm tree and catches the eye of the Falleen female currently ablating an older man with her words. She is leaning over, both hands placed on top of a black woven steel table, her mouth freezing on her words as she looks over his tall frame. One of her eyebrows raises in question and he saunters toward her, bending down to match her stance at the table.

     “Might I add a new perspective to this discussion?” He makes his voice deeper; a molten tone that he usually reserves for nights when Padme wants to re-enact their first night together.

     “I’m afraid this topic might be over your pretty little head,” the Falleen hisses, but the fire in her eyes isn’t aggressive. Instead, it invites him in. _Perfect. I’ll have her in the palm of my hand in no time._

     He can feel Obi-Wan moving his conversation partner toward a cart with flutes of a sparkling wine. Anakin brings his face closer to the Falleen woman and he can feel her start to seethe at his proximity. The Falleen have a distaste for physical contact and displays of romance, but he is betting that she’ll catch on to his typical human approach. He leans in close, his lips a breath away from brushing her ear.

     “If by that you mean, the matter of capturing excess plasma created by motiguim mining and converting it into crystal-based power sources for use in Outer Rim city development, then yes, I do have something to add.” Anakin pulls away slowly, biting his lip as he holds her gaze. “It’s already been done. Three standard years ago.”

     The Falleen allows her stiff stance to shift slightly, and a normal sentient would be unable to notice, but she releases pheromones; the tell-tale sign that he is on the right track with her. Quinlan Vos had once fallen under the spell of a Falleen, so Anakin steels himself against the scent that threatens to make him forget his purpose.

     “Who are you?” She growls, the former focus of her argument shrinking away in his seat as they stare each other down.  

     “Someone who’d prefer a worthy adversary when it comes to methods of using metallic byproducts,” Anakin draws away. “It’s a shame you don’t fit the bill.”

 

     Anakin turns to walk away from the table and feels a hand grip his gloved hand.

     “Oh no, no,” the woman doesn’t let him leave. “You are having a drink at the bar with me, handsome. I don’t just let men talk to me that way.” Her skin is shifting as she tests the air around them. Anakin can’t blame her. If he’d been a normal human, he’d have been under her spell already. He knows she’s trying to seem more appealing to him, whatever appearance that might be.

     Anakin is listening so closely to the Force around him that he can feel the way it warps as Obi-Wan’s fingers clench around the stem of his wine glass at the sight of the Falleen's touch on Anakin’s hand. Anakin smiles, still facing away from the woman before he gives in and allows her to lead him to a set of empty barstools.

 

\---

     “And then I told Dr. Bertine, you can’t apply the same physiological understanding to such a different species. It doesn’t even reproduce in the same fashion. It was preposterous.”

     “I’m sure,” Obi-Wan nods, his attention drifting toward Anakin. The man was teasing some reptilian species at a table across the room. In a moment of weakness, he lets his discomfort show on his face with a furrowed brow.

     “She proceeded to lecture me about the original experiments another scientist had done on-” he trails off, following Obi-Wan’s gaze. “Sib, is something wrong?”

     “Ah,” Obi-Wan blinks quickly, returning his focus to the man in front of him. “My apologies. Everything is fine, Doctor. Please continue.”

     The delphinia specialist refuses to revisit his story, his eyes lit with a spark of interest. “That’s the young man you arrived with, is it not?”

     Obi-Wan brings the glass of wine to his lips and takes a small sip, humming in confirmation.

     “It looks like-” The man pauses, leaning to side to track Anakin as he follows the woman from the table. “Like he’s holding hands with some woman. And they’re getting drinks.”

     Obi-Wan puts a hand in the pocket of his pants. He wishes they could return to the story about the timing of delphinian flower maturation. Having to follow Anakin’s lead is not where he had hoped the day would go. The man is just so unpredictable at times.

     Dr. Gharnel finally stops his blatant staring at Anakin and his newfound friend in order to fixate on Obi-Wan. “Are you sure you are feeling okay, Dr. Mihail? From what I’ve heard, you’ve started quite a few fights at the bar over a stranger making passes at your newest prize.” He raises his eyebrow before throwing back a swig of his amber drink. “Or maybe you’ve taken up the meditation practices of those crazy monks on Coruscant? What are they called? Jedi?”

     Obi-Wan can smell the alcohol on the man’s breath as he bristles under the attention. He is not doing a good enough job laying low, especially with Anakin being so overt with his own identity. He allows himself to give a noncommittal huff, but instead of avoiding the conversation, a female Togruta brushes against his shoulder and points over to the bar.

     “I wish I could hit it off with that guy like that kriffing Falleen over there, don’t you, Gharnel?”

     The doctor smiles warmly and lets out a gruff chuckle. “I’m surprised you’re not already over there, trying to charm your way into another kahl juice,” he says as he plucks the wet glass of red-tinged ice from the Togruta’s hand. She frowns but doesn’t protest. Instead, she places an arm on Obi-Wan’s shoulder and leans close to his face.

     “This man is always trying to steal my drinks. He doesn’t know the definition of fun,” she drawls, a small snort punctuating her sentence. She blinks slowly, maintaining eye contact with Obi-Wan for long enough to make him wish he could squirm away. Finally, her brows furrow. “So who are you, anyway? I don’t believe we’ve met.” Her eyes are half-shut and she lets her breath soften into a giggle as it ghosts over Obi-Wan’s cheek. “I’m Salahna Hadii.”

     “This is Dr. Sib Mihail. And that guy you were salivating over is the doctor’s current obsession, apparently,” Dr. Ghamel chimes in, laughing and swallowing the last drops of his drink quickly. “Although he must not be too spectacular, since Sib’s still over here with us.”

     Obi-Wan’s cheeks start to turn an awful shade of pink as it dawns on him. _I’m not acting well enough. They can see right through my disguise and it’s only been forty-five minutes._

     “You won’t miss him if he takes off with the Falleen girl, will you?” The Indarian means to ask an innocent question, he hopes, but it sends Obi-Wan into a silent panic. He can’t afford to lose his partnership with Anakin so soon. They had planned to use their disguise to buy them time for poking around the laboratories during the next day’s tour. It wouldn’t help them gain intel on the Separatists involved in Bar Neth’s financial dealings, or the potential corruption of the Bar Nethians themselves if Anakin was running off with a manipulative Falleen woman instead of him. _Not giving me much time to warm up, are you, Anakin?_

     Obi-Wan can feel his embarrassment and irritation seep out into the space around him as his mind burns through ways he can spin this conversation into a swift exit. There is only one option; to play along. _I wish he would have warned me before starting such a scene._

     The memory of the sunshine dappling the skin of two Jedi in the soft glow of the Bar Nethian sun disappears. Now, Obi-Wan could feel the handsy Togruta quite literally breathing down his neck as she and the doctor awaited his next move.

     “If she doesn’t catch that fine piece of ass, I certainly will,” she says, turning to wink at Dr. Gharnel.

     “On the contrary, I’m afraid.” Obi-Wan takes her arm with a delicate grip and removes it from his shoulder. “I hope you’ll pardon me while I reclaim what is mine.” He sets his glass down on the nearest flat surface and looks back toward the two scientists. “He does have a tendency to wander, but at the end of the day, he knows his place.” He leaves them with a smirk, but it melts into a grimace as he starts rolling his sleeves up to his elbows and approaches the bar.

 

     “You’ll have to excuse me, darling. This man is already taken,” his voice bordering on terse when he’d meant for it to be polished. His hand grabs Anakin’s jaw and pulls his head to force Anakin’s gaze to his.

 

_Follow me. Now._

 

     Obi-Wan turns quickly and heads for the doorway out of the courtyard, trying to block out the murmurs that barrage his ears as he passes through the throngs of Bar Nethian scientists and visiting sorts.

 

 _Master, where are we going?_ The question pesters his mind and Anakin’s sigh of irritation accompanies its presence. _We should be having this conversation where other people can see._

 

     “In here,” Obi-Wan hisses, grabbing Anakin by the collar of his pressed white shirt. Obi-Wan forces them both into the fresher they’d passed on their way into this wing of Taman Emas’s sprawling estate. The room is dark and full of mirrors that reflect back the image of Obi-Wan in clothes that don’t belong to him, pretending to be someone he’s not, one hand holding Anakin by the collar and using a fair amount of his strength to push the man against the cold tile wall.

 

_Do you think they have cameras in here?_

 

     Anakin’s hand comes up to wrap around Obi-Wan’s and he shakes his head quickly.

 

     “Are you trying to test my patience, Anakin?” Obi-Wan releases him, twisting toward the ‘fresher stalls. He kicks at each one to confirm that they are alone. “Two of them were already questioning whether I was mentally and physically sound because I wasn’t starting a bar fight over you with your new Falleen friend, which by the way, what do you even think you’re doing with one of them? Remember what happened to Vos?”

     Anakin’s eyes are dark in the dim light, but Obi-Wan can feel the way his former Padawan is simmering with annoyance without meeting his gaze.

     “Yes, I remember,” he hisses, following Obi-Wan across the small room. “I had everything under control. I was actually getting somewhere with her.” He raises a hand to grip Obi-Wan’s shoulder and is met with a hand on his wrist.

     “What is with people grabbing me today?” Anakin rips his arm away and stands closer to Obi-Wan, using his height to his advantage. “Maybe you need to get more acquainted with the character you’re playing, Obi-Wan.” His eyes are shining with confidence. “I think I’m doing a kriffing great job, honestly.”

     “I’m attempting to get to know some of these people so that we can identify potential targets, Anakin. How am I supposed to do that when you’re prancing around the courtyard, teasing anything sentient?” Obi-Wan shakes his head, avoiding Anakin’s gaze.

     “Teasing is part of the job, master. Are you blind?” Anakin is on the move, pacing back and forth. “I’m supposed to be some kind of trophy boy for this _Sib_ guy. Nothing would be more convincing of our identities than getting you worked up over your prize trying to get someone else’s attention.”

     “I am aware.” A stroke of his trimmed beard allows him a moment to swallow back his annoyance.

     “Take a hint then, Obi-Wan. You’re supposed to be jealous.” Anakin’s feet stop in front of his former master, bringing him full circle. “You do know how to feel that, right?”

 

     Obi-Wan blinks, stunned at the doubt in Anakin’s voice. “Oh, Anakin. Don’t start this now.”

     “We have to be more convincing than this,” the man clenches his gloved hands. “You’ve got to start acting like a rich man with a ‘boy toy’ and less like a sack of celibate bones that runs away to the bathroom when he’s uncomfortable,” Anakin’s words bite and the man turns away to look at his reflection in one of the mirrors. The lights are casting strange shadows across their faces and Anakin looks more like a sculpture and less like a human. “I can still feel the darkness that we noticed in Lower Seles. We can’t mess this up before we get the chance to investigate the research facilities, at least.”

     Obi-Wan’s face softens with concern.

     “For Force’s sake, the first time you’ve touched me since we’ve been here was when you grabbed my jaw back there. We’re not being a very convincing couple.” Anakin rests his hands on the edge of the ‘fresher’s counter of sinks and lets his head fall. “This is going to be a long assignment if we don’t work together.”

     “Long and fruitless,” Obi-Wan echoes. “It is strong here, isn’t it?” He gestures around them and knows that Anakin will understand. “I can’t pinpoint where it’s coming from, but it’s clouding everything around us.”

     “As if we need anything else distracting us.” Anakin drags a hand down his face. “I might be a hit with the ladies, but I have no idea what I’m doing with all of these scientists.”

     Obi-Wan releases the last wisps of his own irritation and allows the Force to envelop him. He finds Anakin’s concern flitting in the back of the man’s mind. At least Obi-Wan isn’t alone in his anxiety over the mission. He isn’t exactly versed in the kind of displays they would have to portray while cavorting with corrupt political leaders and wealthy scientists. He feels his body deflate with a sigh and walks over to Anakin. On a different day, he would settle for a brush of comfort through their remaining bond, but today is not a typical day. In a show of compromise, he rubs at Anakin’s bent back as the man stares at the floor. The soft motions are enough to get Anakin back to the real world.

     “Maybe storming off convinced them a bit,” Obi-Wan mutters, continuing to rub circles.

     “No, we need to do more.” Anakin straightens and looks over at Obi-Wan. “Make it look like you had to remind me that I was yours.”

 

     The flush that spreads across his neck and cheeks is not becoming any more welcome, no matter how many times it happens in one day. “I did mention something of that nature when I made my escape.” Obi-Wan strokes his beard; an attempt to distract from the blush that grows with each passing second. “Well,” he pauses. “We could rough up our hair a bit, first of all.”

     “Right,” Anakin answers, reaching to run a calloused hand through Obi-Wan’s hair. His first instinct is to swat him away, but lets Anakin ruin his perfect coif. He decided to join in and musses Anakin’s hair as well. It was already an unruly mess of curls, but the addition of strands that escape from his ponytail give him a look of unkemptness. “Probably should have my lips swollen? That would be a good one.”

     Anakin starts viciously rubbing at his lips with his fingers and Obi-Wan has to hold back a laugh. He can’t believe they are really doing this in the ‘fresher of an expensive hotel on some planet no one’s ever heard of.

     “You too, Obi-Wan. I didn’t kiss myself,” Anakin winks and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. He begins to mimic Anakin’s tactic. It feels ridiculous. It is. “Keep that blush up too, master. It’s very convincing.”

     “Is this sufficient?” Obi-Wan wonders out loud, tugging at his shirt to untuck it slightly. He runs his hands up and down to create random wrinkles in the thin fabric. Anakin is about to pull the door to the ‘fresher open when he gasps.

     “A bruise!”

     “What?”

     “You should give me a bruise on my neck! That would be perfect!” Anakin is unbuttoning his collar and walking toward Obi-Wan, who has his hands out apprehensively.

     “How am I supposed to do that? Bludgeon you? Why do you want a large bruise? Galira never mentioned Sib being into abusive relationships.”

     “A hickie, Obi-Wan. You have to give me one.”

     “Oh, Anakin, that’s too much. Let’s just go.” Obi-Wan tries to push past him and leave, but Anakin doesn’t let him.

     “Trust me, master. This will more than make up for what happened earlier. No one will question it.” Anakin isn’t picking up on Obi-Wan’s discomfort, too caught up in his own brilliant idea. Obi-Wan’s hands are getting a little damp from sweat and he wants to be anywhere but here in this dark room, even Geonosis. His face feels like it’s burning redder than Ventress’s dual lightsabers, but he wills himself to not back down from the challenge.

     “Come here then,” he huffs and pulls Anakin close. He tugs the collar away from Anakin’s neck and tilts the man's chin toward the ceiling. “I hope this is sufficient.”

 

     He leans in quickly, shutting his eyes tightly as his lips make contact with the skin of Anakin’s neck. Obi-Wan makes the mistake of taking a short breath as he lets his teeth bite gently at the spot that pulses with Anakin’s heartbeat. The man’s neck smells like the heat of all five of Bar Neth’s suns, mixed with the sharp scent of Galira’s herbal soaps from his bath in the morning. It makes his knees quiver and he holds his breath to keep it from taking hold of his disgusting desire. Obi-Wan sucks at the patch of skin for seconds that feel like years. His grip on Anakin’s shoulder begins to tighten. His fingers are digging in, as if he is rooting himself to the moment before Anakin can sweep him away. _He’s not even trying to do this. I know he’s not._ The Force is a tumultuous cloud around them and Obi-Wan wants to know what Anakin’s skin tastes like in the pouring rains of Kamino, in the middle of a sweltering day on Rishi.

     He breaks away and takes his first breath. He takes a moment to look over his work, surveying the blooming purple bruise on Anakin’s neck. Anakin’s pupils are blown wide, swallowing the blue that usually cuts through the darkness. His lips are red from pretending, but Obi-Wan suddenly wonders if they would really look that way if he were to suck on his bottom lip and taste the man’s mouth for real.

 

     He yanks his hand away from Anakin’s shoulder and stumbles back, shaking his head slowly. _What in Sith’s hells am I doing?_ This man is his best friend, his comrade, his former Padawan. The swirls of desire twist into a riling sourness that leaves him wishing to empty the contents of his stomach onto the floor. The feelings he had hoped would stay in Galira’s opulent bathroom are growing stronger with each hour he spends in Seles.

     “We should-” he swallows with a dry throat- “head back to the party.” He mutters and turns to leave. This time Anakin doesn’t stop him.

     “Good idea.” Anakin rubs a hand over his neck but doesn’t follow.

 

     Obi-Wan looks back to see Anakin chuckling. “Never thought I’d become a victim of Obi-Wan Kenobi’s ministrations.” _He’s having fun with this, somehow. I’ll never know how._

 

     “I did it for the mission, Anakin.” _Yes, for the mission. Not to seek my own selfish desires. There is no emotion; there is peace._ Obi-Wan lets a blanket of silence settle over his thoughts; a practiced dismissal of his inner struggles.

 

     “Of course, master. Only for the good of our disguise.” The man gives him an exaggerated wink and Obi-Wan can feel the warmth that is Anakin Skywalker overwhelm him in the familiar way of the Force. _I think he knows I’m upset._ And the waves of playful energy that shimmer between them make Obi-Wan consider things.

 

     He could choose to follow the current; to let go of his tight grasp on the crumbling banks of his resolve.

 

     “Don’t push it.” But he knows that Anakin will, if only to challenge him.

 

     “You make it difficult not to, honestly. You get so embarrassed,” Anakin laughs, holding the door open for Obi-Wan as they re-enter to hallway.

     “Then next time, it’ll be your job to do the uncomfortable necessities of this arrangement.”

     “You’ll be hard-pressed to find a situation like that,” Anakin challenges. “I’m not often uncomfortable.” They’re both smiling, even if Obi-Wan’s is an attempt at exasperation; the tension from earlier forgotten.

 

     It will take more than a push, but Obi-Wan isn’t sure his threshold is as high as he once believed.

 

     As they walk into the courtyard once more, the other guests can feel the way they vibrate with a different energy. It draws their eyes for only a moment and then they return to their drinks and conversations. Obi-Wan breathes a sigh of relief and joins a discussion with an unfamiliar human, Anakin at his side. _Bar Neth is going to be the death of me, if Anakin doesn’t get to me first._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it wouldn't be one of my chapters if it didn't have a tidbit of sexual tension woven into it.
> 
> As much as I'd love for them to just vomit feelings at each other, they're telling me that it's not going to happen yet. 
> 
> Obi-Wan is too much of a stick in the mud. He needs to be uprooted a couple more times before he gives up the mask that he's wearing.
> 
> But how do you think poor Anakin feels? This man is practically touch-starved. Things are going to get 10x more sexually awkward for them before it gets better.
> 
> I apologize in advance.
> 
> THANK YOU to [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) and [theunethicalscientist](https://theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com/) for their help editing this chapter. I wouldn't be able to post anything without the help of these two. I was a mess when I was writing this, apparently. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has given kudos, written comments, and/or bookmarked this story! I appreciate every single one of you! When I'm having a bad day, knowing that I've given people a little bit of joy keeps me going.
> 
> I hope we can all stick with this one till the end.


	5. A Plate of Abandoned Crudités

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan finally get to meet the person who invited them to the flipping hotel in the first place!
> 
> We also get to learn a few things about life on Bar Neth as the desert was being reclaimed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not too much fluff in this one, but there are some great little moments of obikin goodness. I promise there is more to come in the next chapter. I just didn't want to forget why I started this story in the first place! I have a story to tell...at least I have most of one.
> 
> See you at the end <3

     Noh Tersem, the head attendant that had dropped them off at the afternoon gathering, rests a hand on Obi-Wan’s forearm three hours into the party. He is in mid-gesture about the extraordinary branching of Benant tree roots to a young man from Dantooine. Obi-Wan turns to his side with an eyebrow raised in condescending surprise, fully in his character as Sib Mihail. At the sight of the old man, he feels his face soften. Maybe this means that he and Anakin will have a chance to get away from the party. As much as they had fallen into their roles after their ‘fresher discussion that day, Obi-Wan’s body aches for a chance to breathe without being critiqued by strangers.

     “Dr. Mihail. Your presence has been requested by Dr. Tmela Avos.”

     “Ah, of course. Let me just-” he forces his plate of crudités into the hands of the Dantooine man with a calculated carelessness- “find the troublemaker of a man I decided to bring along with me.” Obi-Wan’s eyes travel across the tops of people’s heads, looking for the tell-tale curls of Anakin’s hair.

     “I will retrieve him for you, doctor. Don’t trouble yourself.” Tersem relinquishes his claim on Obi-Wan’s arm and swiftly weaves his way around the tipsy guests. The elder gentleman is akin to a hungry gundark in the way he hones in on Anakin’s location without even having to look.

     His eyes peel away from the attendant and fall onto his plate of abandoned snacks. Obi-Wan lets the Dantooinian know how pleased he is that the man could be so kind to hold his food by taking a sliver of sugar-root and letting it crunch between his teeth. He gives the man a twitch of a smile and heads for the door, meeting Tersem and Anakin as they make their way out of the courtyard.

 

     The attendant steps forward quickly and holds the transparent door open for them as the two men enter the cool confines of the tile hallway for the third time today. Although it hadn’t been the oppressive heat of Lower Seles, the courtyard had been a stifling mix of words and swirls of smoke that rose from a few humans rolled cigarettes.Obi-Wan was glad to finally breathe again.

_It was nothing like any afternoon tea I’ve ever participated in_ , he thinks to himself as they fall in step behind Tersem.

     “Where will we be acquainting ourselves with Tmela?” Obi-Wan asks as he and Anakin peer through the transparisteel windows of each room they pass. “I do hope they’ll provide more than a choice selection of vegetables.”

     Anakin smiles at the comment and it even rouses a chuckle from their escort.

     “A private dining area on the third floor. Doctor Avos has many engagements today, so I’m afraid your meal will be on the short side, but room service is available at all hours of the day, should you two be interested in anything later on in the evening.”

     At the mention of “anything” and “meal” in the same sentence, Anakin is a Loth cat with perked ears. It makes Obi-Wan hide a smile behind a brush of his hand to his nose.

     “My companion would adore some frites and a chocolate milkshake, I’m sure.”

     “You only have to ask, sir. I can have it arranged for any time.”

 

     Noh Tersem leads Anakin and Obi-Wan into a glimmering transparent cylinder outlined in gold. It serves as a lift to take them up the third floor, giving them a rather splendid view of the many private courtyards and pools that pocket the expansive estate. As the doors release, the scent of dune lilies greets Obi-Wan with such force that he almost reels back and stumbles into Anakin.  

     The old man turns around with a knowing smile. _He has seen this reaction many times in his ushering of people to this level, maybe even done it himself._ Obi-Wan has no idea what to expect as Tersem held the large wooden door aside for them. But out of all the possibilities, he doesn’t expect to see a vision of feminine grace.

 

     She has rich blue skin, accented with chains of gold jewelry that hang against her collarbones and adorn her wrists. _She must be a Twi’lek._ He knows because of the lekku that hang from her head; even they are covered in tattoos that shimmer as she turns to greet her latest visitors.

     “You must be Sib.” She stands from her seat at a small glass table near the edge of the room and meets them in the middle. “It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. I’ve heard so much about you.” Her smile is welcoming, almost excited.

     Obi-Wan reaches out and takes her hand, pressing it to his lips gently. “The pleasure is all mine, Doctor Avos. You have chosen quite the venue for this occasion.” He lets her hand fall away gently and steps back to Anakin’s side.

     “And who might this gentleman be?” Tmela’s eyes land on Anakin, taking him in. He sees the man give her a lopsided grin and wants to cuff him on the back of the head. _Always trying to charm people, aren’t you?_

     “This is Devon Aristides. A companion of mine,” Obi-Wan takes Anakin’s chin between his thumb and forefinger, guiding the man’s gaze back to him. “Although he has been quite a handful this afternoon.” Obi-Wan’s eyes lock on Anakin’s as he lets his fingers trail across Anakin’s jaw and down his neck. He feels the way the man’s muscles tighten at the gentle touch; loses himself in the facade of their attraction for a moment. “I hope he’ll behave himself.”

     Tmela averts her gaze, suddenly bashful in their presence. This is when Obi-Wan knows he can relax. Over the past few hours, he had become aware that making people uncomfortable with his casual touches was an easy way to establish Devon’s attachment.

  


     “Call me Tmela,” the Twi’lek invites with the way of her hand. Obi-Wan drops his own away from Anakin and follows her to the small table, which has only two place settings. Anakin’s eyes flicker with apprehension but Tmela raises a hand to stop him in his tracks. She presses a finger to one of her wrist cuffs and a small door raises to reveal a young woman dressed in layers of white synthsilk. Tmela beckons her over and whispers in her ear. The woman’s eyes widen and dart over to Anakin’s face.

     Tmela finally sends the girl away, cheeks red and staring at her feet as she retreats into the hidden area behind the door.

     “Excuse my horrible manners, gentleman. It seems that I was uninformed that I would be hosting two guests. Not a mistake on your part, of course.” Her eyes again drift to Anakin. “It is a delight to meet any friend of Sib Mihail.”

     The girl returns with a set of plates, napkins, and fine glassware for Anakin. She sets it up with a speed that seems, in itself, an apology. Obi-Wan can see the mortification in each adjustment of a utensil, the discomfort in the way she pours water into the new glass. He hopes she won’t be reprimanded for this. It crosses his mind that they could be slaves working for Tmela, but the lekku seem to contradict his concerns. A Twi’lek wouldn’t enslave others; not after so many of them were carted off of Ryloth by the Hutt cartel.

     It was a secondary concern to the real reason they were here. A darkness was still surrounding this place, even with all of the polished gold ornaments and bright sunlight casting through the windows.

     Obi-Wan brushed his thoughts aside, pulling the chair out for Tmela before seating himself.

 

\---

 

     “Your invitation was a bit-” Anakin pauses both his words and the way he was twisting his fork into the creamed beans in front of him. “-indeterminate. What do you study exactly?”

     “I was originally trained in immunology and epidemiology. I had goals of eradicating the Sicein virus from Bar Neth,” Tmela answers. “Are you familiar with it?”

     “No.” Anakin furrows his brows. “I haven’t heard of it.”

 

     Tmela looks to Obi-Wan, but he shakes his head.

 

     “It’s a terrible virus. It causes lesions on the skin, swelling of the internal organs, and ultimately death.” She takes a bite of a roasted vegetable and Anakin almost flinches at the way she casually refers to the symptoms. She reminds him of everything he hates about privileged beings; how they can talk of other people’s suffering as an abstract concept. _It’s just another puzzle for her to solve._ “Up until recently, there was no known cure and no way to stop it from spreading from person to person.”

     “That sounds horrendous.” Obi-Wan’s face has darkened with concern.

     “Yes. Yes, it was,” Tmela’s voice softens and she looks out the window toward the gardens. “For my family, it was an abrupt and violent end.”

     Obi-Wan looks to her, almost as if he wants to reach a hand out to console her.

 

     Anakin just stares at his plate of untouched food.

 

     Tmela continues. “I spent the latter part of my childhood on a settlement far away from here, west of the farthest reaches of Seles. It was small, only thirty people, all shipped out against our wills to begin cultivating crops out in those barren phosphate-rich sands. Nothing could grow there.” Her eyes narrow and her lips fall into a downward curve of dissatisfaction. “Or so I thought. Your strains of phosphate-accumulating grasses were more effective than my eight-year-old brain could have imagined.”

     Anakin is confused. He has to admit, he isn’t sure why she was disappointed at the success of the farms. A prod at his shields told him to wait, to not ask questions.

     “We had proper farmlands within four years. The government wanted us to stay at the settlement permanently to continue remediating the soil. By that time, I had accepted that we would never see the lights of Seles again. Nor would I see my friends, or the pages of a textbook. They didn’t want us anymore. My entire life would be one devoted to tilling the fields, of scraping the coats off of seeds. But that too, was not meant to be.”

 

     The ice in Tmela’s glass fissured and collapsed; the only sound to penetrate the silence amidst the Twi’lek’s grave pause.

 

     “First, the spots appear on your hands and feet. Places that you wouldn’t blink twice at finding a scab or welt on. It was common to come home covered in dirt and sweat, lacerated by the sharp edges of those tall dust-corn plants. By the time you realized that it was more than a side-effect of hard labor, your entire family was infected.”

     Tmela turns away from the window at last to reach for a hunk of bread speckled with seeds. With her small blue hands, she rips it fiercely into two and casts one half aside.

     “They didn’t know how it spread. In the air, in the water, by contact; it all meant nothing to them. Those ignorant villagers brought balms to each other, brought a useless home remedy to my family’s shack to ease the pain that never ended. I watched as my mother collapsed in the kitchen, her spleen rupturing when she bent down to grab a piece of root she’d dropped on the floor.”

     Anakin’s heart wrenches at the thought. The images in his mind too real, too vivid for him to swallow down. He wants to run away. He doesn’t want to hear Tmela’s story anymore. But at the same time, it keeps him there, glued to the seat in fear for people he knows have passed.

     “There are people out there,” she points as if she knows exactly where the settlements are. Anakin can’t see past the sprawling boroughs of Upper Seles. “People who don’t know any better.”

     Anakin meets her eyes and he sees that the pain he carries is not unlike her own. Tmela sees it too. It draws the the guilt-tainted words from her lips.

     “A twelve-year-old doesn’t know how to fix internal bleeding. And she definitely doesn’t know how to bandage the sores that open in the shape of her handprint where she had gripped her father’s wrist to bring him home to bury her brother.”

     “Tmela,” Obi-Wan’s voice is not a crafted persona anymore. “You cannot blame yourself for what happened to your village.”

 

     Anakin knows better.

 

     “How could I not? How could I refuse the burden of my people?” Tmela hisses at the memory. “I was the only one who survived, without a single wound to show for it.”

     “You have wounds where others cannot see,” Obi-Wan counters, giving into his compassionate nature and reaching across the table to steady Tmela’s quivering hand. “I am sorry you had to carry this weight with you.”

     Tmela’s blue eyes are rimmed with gold that seems to swirl in a mirror of her turmoil. She closes them slowly and takes a deep breath. “Excuse me, gentlemen. I seem to have gotten carried away.”

 

     They both deny her apologies.

 

     She sighs, a soft breath that brings her back to the present. “It keeps me focused on fixing the problems of Bar Neth, of the Outer Rim. I will not let more people suffer at the hands of their own ignorance.”

     “You said, up until now they hadn’t known of a cure,” Anakin can’t stop himself from asking.

     Tmela had returned to her meal, but meets his gaze with a fire he didn’t expect.

     “I found a cure.”

     “Amazing,” Obi-Wan breathes, shaking his head in disbelief as he takes a bite of the tender poultry the young server had brought to them earlier.

     The fire retreats from her as she sits back in her seat. “But alas, we have bigger problems on Bar Neth.”

     Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow.

 

     “The Republic has abandoned us after deeming Seles to be in the long-term phase of terraformation. They assumed our government officials would oversee the development of sister cities farther west and east of us. But hunger is still a planet-wide struggle, Dr. Mihail. Which is why I invited you here.”

     “Do you have a cure for that as well?” Anakin questions. He has to admit, he is letting his curiosity get the better of him. He is not expected to have interest in the dealings of Sib Mihail. He’s just “along for the ride.”

 

     “A cure of sorts, but not the same type as a vaccination,” Tmela lets out a rare laugh. “In order to provide the resources we need for development, we have to make ourselves useful to the surrounding systems. This is why I proposed the creation of a small exportation business for the farmers of Bar Neth, primarily the ones in the Seles community.”

     “And you’ve made progress, I’m assuming?” Obi-Wan gives a pointed look to the towers at each corner of Taman Emas. Tmela grins.

     “Great progress actually. We’ve sent shipments to some of the nearest planets already. I believe, Dantooine, Grenida, and the system of Lersih.”

     “But?”

     Tmela holds Obi-Wan’s gaze. Anakin can feel a certain amount of trepidation quivering in the bond between them and tries to quiet it. He doesn’t sense anything to be off about this woman. She seems to carry a lot of pain with her, but nothing to fear.

     “But in order to serve more of the Outer Rim, we need the input of as many investors as possible. I simply don’t have enough resources here to send ships to every planet that needs help. And we need more refineries, more greenhouses.” Tmela’s hands gesture wildly to match the passion in her voice. “We have everything we need. All the plans have been laid out. The missing piece is people like you, Sib.”

_Ah yes, the seeds. Sib Mihail is one hell of a miracle worker when it comes to genetic modification._ Anakin remembers skimming the various projects that Obi-Wan’s character had worked on, one of them being the terraformation of Bar Neth via lines of drought-resistant tubers, grains, and beans that could turn the phosphate-riddled soil into a carbon-rich plot of land that normal plants could tolerate. It has been convenient that the real Dr. Mihail never left the comfort of his laboratory on Coruscant to do field testing. He assumes the man had people for that.

 

     “I fail to see where I come in,” Obi-Wan responds to Tmela.

     That earns him a pointed look of suspicion. Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s stomach drop. Yet another blunder for the older man, who is supposed to be the wiser of the two of them.

 

     Anakin butts in. “I think what he means is, how exactly can you make this worthwhile for us? What kind of returns will be made? You are charging the civilians for the food, correct? This isn’t a humanitarian aid mission.”

     Obi-Wan hums in agreement. “Yes, I’m not fond of aiding people who have no means to help themselves.”

     “The possibilities are endless for you, Sib. You were the engineer of the very plants that grow in the fields of Bar Neth. Every time we sell our produce to a planet, you will receive a portion of the proceeds. More than you’ve received for your work on Bar Neth.”

     “I’m listening,” Obi-Wan rests his clasped hands on the table, pushing his meal aside.

     “I have acquired cultivars of your drought resistant products. My team of scientists have further modified them for disease resistance on our neighboring planets. But the rights to these plants are not mine alone. They are yours. And I’m inviting you to once again be a part of Bar Neth’s rise in status. These people need food, and we can provide it to them. For a price, of course.”

     Obi-Wan’s eyes narrow and Anakin slides a hand underneath the tablecloth to brush against the man’s thigh. _I think you should be more relaxed, Obi-Wan. She seems to be fond of your work._

     But Obi-Wan’s shoulders remain tense and he leans forward to rest his weight on the table. _Oops._ “To how many others has this idea been proposed?”

     Tmela refuses to shy away from Obi-Wan’s questions. “As many as it takes to get what I need for Bar Neth.”

     “I see a distinct flaw in that approach,” Obi-Wan leans back, his sudden change startling his partner and the Twi’lek in front of him.

     “I beg your pardon?” Her long eyelashes flutter at the admonishment.

     “You won’t be receiving monetary support from me if I’m going to be sharing the cut with too many others. You need to be more focused.”

     “Sib. Please-” Her attempt to placate him is futile. Obi-Wan is not actually irritated. But he’s beginning to see how Obi-Wan is going to draw them into her circle of trust. She will have to beg. _Maybe I misjudged his tactics._ “It would be useless to provide them with food unable to withstand the heat and blights of their native planets.”

 

     Anakin can feel her desperation in the Force, which strikes him. She had been so silent before, only a hum of neutral energy until this moment. Although her sadness of her youth had been clear, it had not been confirmed with ripples in the air around him. Yet now, her true colors are showing. He urges Obi-Wan to leave.

     “I appreciate the generosity you have shown us so far, Doctor Avos. As for your offer, I ask that you allow me to consider, while I hope you consider the movements you must take on your end.” Obi-Wan stands, setting his napkin beside his plate. “And I do not appreciate that you have made modifications to my products without first consulting me. It would be a shame if I were to find you profiting off of my modified plant lines without my consent.”

 

     The threat in his voice is not missed by Tmela Avos.

 

     “I’m afraid I must accompany the doctor,” Anakin says, pushing back his own chair. “Although, your work has certainly impressed me.” He smiles and winks. It draws the reaction out of her more perfectly than he had imagined. She grabs him by the wrist as he walks past her, letting Obi-Wan continue toward the door.

     “You’ll convince him for me, won’t you? For the people of the Outer Rim?”

     “I have variety of methods for that exact purpose, my lady.”

     Her panic starts to diffuse and he holds back a chuckle. “You’re a good man, Devon.” She draws her hand away, but her fingers linger slightly. They share a glance and Anakin can feel the way Obi-Wan’s stare is burning into his back.

     “Devon, our time with the wonderful Doctor Avos has come to an end. Let’s be on our way.” Obi-Wan’s voice echoes with the sounds of the voice he used when Anakin had been just a Padawan, and as much as Anakin wants to let it only be his character acting, he knows it isn’t when he dares to brush his hand across Tmela’s bare shoulder in defiance as he walks away.

 

\---

 

     Noh Tersem is waiting for them outside the heavy wooden door and Obi-Wan wonders if he has been standing there the whole time.

     “The suns will set within the hour, Doctor Mihail. I suggest that you allow me to show you to your quarters so that you may retire to them at any time.”

     “Quite alright,” he answers.

     As they ride the lift back down to the main floor, Obi-Wan notices that more of the guests have begun to mill around the estate. Without allowing himself the chance to regret, he threads his fingers between Anakin’s. Anakin answers with a squeeze.

 

_There is much to discuss. Our meeting with Tmela has given me more questions and not less._

 

     Anakin nods and running his thumb over Obi-Wan’s as they walk.

 

_I agree. Although I can see that things will work out in our favor if we stay close to her._

 

     Obi-Wan turns his head to meet Anakin’s gaze as they walk. They both wear smiles as if they were enjoying the atmosphere, pleased to be sharing a moment together. But their eyes show each other the uncertainty that boils in the Force around them. As they turn back to follow Tersem to the other side of the hotel, Obi-Wan admits to himself that he is in dire need of a break. The wounds on his side, although bandaged well, are due for a change. More salve across his shoulders would be spectacular.

     He had kept his limp under control while in the presence of the guests and the head attendant, but it is becoming difficult for him to hide now that his thoughts had been lead astray by Tmela’s request. Tersem hands them the key to their room and steps back to let them enter.

     “There are complimentary communicators on the table inside, gentlemen. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate to call.”

     Obi-Wan hears Anakin thank the man while he continues into the room.

 

     The door shuts behind them with a click, but neither of them jump to start planning their next move. It seems wrong to ruin the contemplative silence that falls between them as they take in their surroundings.  The walls are a warm cream tone that almost glows with the light of the five suns that shine through the wide windows. At the door, a small window seat is to their left, stacked with pillows covered in woven cases of browns and golds, adorned with tassels. Anakin lets his fingers brush the intricate carvings of the archway that separates the entry room as he makes his way to the bedroom. Obi-Wan follows quietly, taking it all in. Their cases of clothing, provided by Galira, are sitting next to a dark wooden armoire.

     Obi-Wan moves to open them, searching amongst the clothing to retrieve a small bag of medical supplies she had tucked into a suit jacket. With each step, his body begins to protest. Anakin is busy touching every object in the room, currently running the linen sheets between his fingers.

     “It’s the same color as the sand,” Anakin’s voice is soft, as if he’s not really there. “But I can’t make myself hate it.” He comes back to the planet slowly, and when he catches Obi-Wan on his way to the ‘fresher, he follows him and stops to lean against the doorframe.

     “Do you need some help with that?”

     Obi-Wan is struggling to reach the burns on his shoulder blades without tearing them open in the process. At the question, he lowers his arms with a sigh. “Yes.”

 

     Obi-Wan keeps his eyes closed and his fists clenched the whole time, fighting back the sighs of relief as Anakin’s gentle touch presses into his skin. Anakin’s fingers curl, soft but certain, just above his hip, while the other hand is busy fixing his ever-shrinking wounds. As soon as it began, it is over and Obi-Wan leaves the ‘fresher without a word.

 

     Anakin stands there, the pot of salve still in his hand, wondering what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you feel how I feel about Tmela? She's got a lot going on. I got really into her character when I was writing. This is also one of the first times our boys get to really use their disguises. Things are going well so far.
> 
> What could go wrong, right?
> 
> Hehehehe ;)


	6. The Most Fascinating Thing in the 'Fresher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin and Obi-Wan settle into their complementary room at Taman Emas, the golden hotel of Bar Neth. After a peculiar meeting with the person who invited them, Tmela Avos, our two Jedi get a chance to rest and regroup.
> 
> Or so they think.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy! After reading a plot-heavy chapter last time I updated, I have a treat for you!
> 
> I don't usually write things that are this overtly sexual, so let me know if there's something I can improve on. :) And if you're not into that, you can skip the latter part of the chapter, but it's not THAT graphic. Trust me.
> 
> Enjoy the fun while it lasts. Things are going to get a bit more difficult for our favs in a couple chapters. See you at the end!

     Anakin is standing in the ‘fresher, white toothpaste foaming out of the corners of his mouth as he hums a tune he’d heard last time he was in the cruiser cafeteria with Rex. He isn’t quite over the luxurious accommodations they’d been given for their stay on Bar Neth. _I guess Yoda’s not too bad after all. Despite having me portray the lover of a famous botanist, who happens to be my former master._ While enjoying the crisp lighting that glowed from behind the mounted mirror, he tilted his head back and forth, brushing his fingers across his jaw. _Probably going to have to shave in the morning._ Unlike Obi-Wan, he still couldn’t produce a reputable beard, nor did he have the freedom to grow scruffy hair due to Padme’s constant pleas to keep his face smooth.  
     Padme’s constant belligerent requests paired with a heavy dose of ignorance comes to mind along with the image of his companion. The fact that she was free to cavort around her apartment with Clovis without repercussions had rubbed him the wrong way. It had taken his exposure as a traitor for a second time in order to convince her of his true nature. It’s as if she doesn’t trust him. She could be so frustrating. And now he is biting down on his toothbrush.  
     He spits into the sink and washes it away, rinses, repeats, and pats his face dry with a towel when he hears it.

     The faintest whine of gears, the shifting of a camera lens.

     He doesn’t move. There are cameras in the bathroom. That means there are cameras in the bedroom, on the patio, in the entryway. Whoever is watching can see absolutely every move they make.

     He screams into the Force.

      _Obi-Wan! The room is bugged._

     He hears the clatter of a datapad hitting the floor. A brief sigh.

      _Damn it, Anakin. Please don’t scream while I’m trying to read._

      _But Master, they’re watching us. Tmela. Noh. Someone._

      _I know, I heard._ Anakin feels the irritation through the bond as strongly as the words.

     He turns from side to side, clenching and unclenching his hands around his lack of ideas. He slams the ‘fresher door shut and turns to the large shower. It is separated from the rest of the room by a pair of glass doors to add a certain amount of privacy when fogged.

     Fogged.

     He pulls the handle of the shower to maximum heat with such force that he almost breaks it off the tiled wall. Thankfully, Taman Emas is not concerned about water usage, much like the rest of Upper Seles. The showerhead pours water, heating up quickly. As steam starts to billow into the small room and fog creeps onto the corners of the mirror, he calls for Obi-Wan.

      _Obi-Wan, get in here._

      _It sounds like you’re showering. What do you need? Please don’t tell me you slipped and cut your face open again._

      _The cameras will be fogged in a couple minutes. We can talk while the shower drowns out our voices. Just get in here and stop being stubborn._

      _I don’t know if this is going to work._

      _Well, if they see us, it’ll just be two men having a romantic shower together. What do you think they expect?_

     The bond is silent for a moment.

      _Obi-Wan, seriously._

The bathroom door cracks open and Obi-Wan’s eyes drag over Anakin’s still-clothed body. Anakin laughs and pulls the door open wider, beckoning him in. The man is obviously cautious after their time in Galira’s ‘fresher. _Typical_.  
Anakin pulls Obi-Wan by the shoulders, twisting so that he can push the door closed with his own weight.  
     “Join me,” he purrs, pulling his best smirk. Obi-Wan’s adam’s apple visibly bobs at the request and his arms are stiff at his sides. Anakin runs his hands down over his arms and settles for threading their fingers together, both a gentle encouragement and a chance for him to send confidence into their bond. “You look like you could use a little relaxation.”  
     “But the salve-”  
     “You can just stand in the steam, Sib. Don’t worry.” Anakin winks at him as he begins to unbutton Obi-Wan’s shirt with one hand, keeping their hands held together with the other. “It’ll be fun.” Anakin bites his lip for good measure. He can see the fog creeping down the mirror.

      _Once it covers the whole mirror, we’ll be out of sight._

     “Did you think I was just getting in there to get clean?” Anakin’s smirk is mirrored by Obi-Wan’s as he hears the thoughts flowing between them. The rigidity of Obi-Wan’s stance melts a bit, but his hand comes up to stop Anakin as he begins to pull the shirt off his shoulder.

      _Don’t go too fast, Anakin. We have our lightsabers underneath our shirts._

     Anakin pauses with a huff. Of course, the weapon pouches. _This just calls for an extra pinch of finesse._ He presses his body to Obi-Wan’s side, blocking his torso from the camera’s view. His fingers find and pull gently at the adhesive edges of the band that attaches the pouch to his chest. Meanwhile, his lips find themselves busy trailing kisses down Obi-Wan’s neck, letting his warm breath ghost over Obi-Wan’s collarbone. Obi-Wan’s face turns away from him and Anakin can feel the flush that rises to greet his lips as he presses them to a lonesome freckle on the man’s shoulder. The pouch’s band gives way and falls to the floor, wrapped in the soft fabric of Obi-Wan’s shirt. He feels his former master’s thoughts as well as the hands on his waist that spin him to rest again a cabinet of towels and linens.

      _Your turn._

     Anakin’s shirt doesn’t button in the front and he wonders how Obi-Wan is going to pull this off, but finds the man’s hands running up his sides, leaving trails of heat as his fingers trace over his ribs. He forgets himself for a moment. He loses himself in the way Obi-Wan touches him with such grace, almost as if he’s done this many times. The pouch band loosens and his shirt is pulled over his head with it, but Anakin barely notices. His mind is filling with images of Obi-Wan, a faceless blond woman, abandoning their clothes on the floor as they fall toward a freshly made bed. The jealousy that makes a home in his heart has never felt so tainted with guilt.

     Obi-Wan has always been his. His master. His best friend. His partner. But never his lover. Anakin knows he’s eyeing forbidden fruit. Nevertheless, he can’t bring himself to deny his desires.  
     His eyes flicker to the mirror. It’s covered in condensation, obscuring their figures into blurs of color. The steam will deny his desires for him.

     They meet each other’s gazes and the dance is over.

     Obi-Wan lets out a sigh. He is still moving to remove his own undergarments when Anakin steps past him. Blue eyes follow him as he pushes the fogged transparisteel shower doors aside, watch as the thin cotton shorts are discarded onto the cool tile. Anakin feels the water on his feet and lets out a hiss, hastily changing the temperature of the water with the flick of his finger. Scalding is not what he has in mind.  
     He almost feels like he isn’t himself for the first time since they’d arrived. Like this isn’t Anakin Skywalker inviting a master Jedi to a steamy shower session. But the feeling doesn’t last long; only as long as it takes for the pleasantly naked master Jedi to join him. It takes a couple seconds from when the door slides closed after him for Anakin to fail at containing his laughter.  
     Obi-Wan gives him the classic eyebrow raise, but its power is diminished by the ever-present flush on his cheeks. “What’s so funny?”  
     “You’re still so stiff,” Anakin chuckles, mimicking Obi-Wan’s crossed arms and lifted shoulders. He thought the man looked exactly like he had when Anakin had stolen Obi-Wan’s robes while the man was taking a dip in a stream on an exploratory mission in his Padawan days. Exactly as endearing as well.  
     Anakin steps back into the shower’s spray and runs a hand through his hair, letting the water run over him. It forms rivulets as it travels over his skin, pooling beneath his feet in a mattering of splashes. His head tips back and he relishes the feeling of utter peace that comes from focusing on the way the water is warming his very core. He runs a hand over his face to clear the droplets from his face.  
     “It feels good. Sure you don’t want to stand in it for awhile?” He steps to the side, letting the spray tickle Obi-Wan’s toes.  
     “What are we going to do about the cameras, Anakin?” Obi-Wan avoids the question, just as his eyes avoid dropping their gaze lower than Anakin’s shoulders. His voice lowers, “I still feel the darkness. And the cameras only confirm what the Force is telling me.”  
     “Someone wants to know what we’re doing, or potentially all of the guests.” Anakin steps back into the spray at Obi-Wan’s refusal. “Hand me that soap?”  
     Obi-Wan nods, placing the white bar in his hand. “There are microphones placed in the bedroom, I assume. Although, I was unable to scan for any other cameras after I was so rudely interrupted from my reading.” Obi-Wan rolls his eyes, but they soon fixate on Anakin’s hands as he runs the bar of soap over his collarbone and down his torso. “We’ll have to be convincing in our disguises even when we are supposed to be off-duty.”  
     “That’s troubling, considering what you’re supposed to be doing to me every evening.” The soap is forming bubbles on Anakin’s thighs as he bends to scrub them.  
     “We could easily spin it as having some sort of disagreement in private. You go to bed angry,” Obi-Wan pauses in thought and his fingers rest against his lips. “We end up sleeping on separate sides of the bed and you leave earlier than me in the morning in order to do some reconnaissance in the other guests’ rooms under the guise of wanting better attention.”

     Anakin frowns while mid-soap of his other leg, tilting his head up to look at Obi-Wan. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”  
     “It would allow me to rest peacefully tonight, unlike any attempt to attach myself to your restless limbs, yes.”  
     Anakin hands the soap back to Obi-Wan and turns to rinse his chest in the spray. “I think you’re playing it safe. And I don’t agree with that attitude.”  
     “I don’t see the problem,” Obi-Wan huffs, averting his gaze. The shower tiles become covered with tiny bubbles of soap that dance among the drops of water on their way to a small drain in the corner. Obi-Wan’s eyes are glued to it as if it is the most fascinating thing in the ‘fresher. _What is his problem, anyway?_

     Anakin steps forward into Obi-Wan’s space. The man’s skin is peppered with stray droplets and his eyes break from the drain instantly to meet Anakin’s focused gaze.  
     “I’m not really your type, am I?” Anakin says. His voice betrays the teasing tone he’d meant his words to have.  
     Obi-Wan stutters. “Wh-what do you mean by that?”  
     “You always get uncomfortable when I touch you. I can feel you shielding, you know.”  
     “Anakin, I think you’re misund-”  
     “I know it would be easier for you if I was someone like Taria Damsin or Satine, but I’m trying my best.”  
     “It would not be easier. None of them are acceptable people to have relations with either,” Obi-Wan huffs.  
     “But that didn’t stop you!” Anakin can feel the jealousy begin to rise, unfurling from his heart to wrap tightly around his throat. “One was the Duchess of Mandalore. The other was a fellow Jedi. And you’re not supposed to have attachments in the first place. But you did.” Anakin’s turns to look at the fogged panes of transparisteel. “The only difference between them and me is that I’m a man.”  
     “I’m not opposed to romantic endeavors with another man, Anakin.” Obi-Wan is pinching his nose, a bright red flush painting his pale cheeks. His words bring Anakin’s gaze back to him.  
     His surprise is evident in the way he pauses. “Oh.” They look at each other, the water still washing Anakin’s feet and Obi-Wan’s crossed arms pulling tighter against his chest. An eyebrow raise. A huff and a chuckle. “Wait, so am I just too ugly for you or something?” Anakin laughs, running a hand through his damp hair.  
     He didn’t know Obi-Wan’s face could get any redder. And yet, it does.  
     “No-no you’re definitely not unattractive.” Obi-Wan is clearly avoiding something now. Anakin doesn’t want to let it pass. “Can we please just figure out what we’re going to do about the constant surveillance?”  
     “So I’m not unattractive, you’re into men, we’re in the shower together,” Anakin lists on his fingers with a smile. “But I’m missing something? Is it because I used to be your Padawan? I guess that could get a little weird. Or because we’re friends? Sometimes I think that would make this whole arrangement a little easie-”

     “Oh, shut up already,” Obi-Wan huffs and kisses him.

     Obi-Wan kisses him in the middle of his sentence and Anakin’s eyes are wide open, his arms paused in mid-gesture. But Obi-Wan’s lips are warm against his and his hands are holding Anakin’s face so softly that he feels himself drowning. His eyes flutter shut, his hands forget what they’re doing, and _kriff he tastes so good please never leave._ But as soon as he can think to ask for more, Obi-Wan pulls away.

     And Anakin thought Obi-Wan’s face had been red. It’s nothing compared to his own.

     He hears Obi-Wan begin to start talking about how they’ll have to infiltrate the surveillance room this evening in order to disconnect their room from the automated scans. He hears it, but he’s not listening. Anakin’s mind is still putting the pieces together.  
     His eyes follow the movement of Obi-Wan’s lips as they form the words he speaks. They flicker to the blue eyes that watch him, expect him to have opinions. They’re looking at him with a quizzical expression. He must have asked a question. It doesn’t matter. The tug in his stomach is stronger than the doubts that swirl in his head. He pins Obi-Wan against the wall of shower. They share the same air, noses brushing each other as Anakin closes the distance between their lips.  
     It’s a risk. He knows it is. Obi-Wan was just trying to prove a point. But Anakin follows the instinct that all of his years of Jedi training cannot suffocate. He wants Obi-Wan. He wants him right here, his hair flattened by the spray of shower, covered in wounds that smell of herbed salve, cheeks pink and with nothing left to hide.

     So he kisses him.

     And with his eyes closed, all he can feel is the heat. A thousand different kinds; all distinctly Obi-Wan. He tastes of cinnamon, hachta root, like the steaming mugs of tea he is always curled up with on a rare day off. Anakin dares to move his lips gently, as if he’s coaxing a flame into a fire. Obi-Wan doesn’t resist. But he doesn’t add. And despite the way Anakin wants to let Obi-Wan’s being engulf him, it unnerves him how unaffected his partner is.  
     He had expected a reaction. _Does he not feel the way I feel? There was something. I know there was._ Anakin moves to pull away, but Obi-Wan stops him. Their lips are barely brushing each other, and Obi-Wan’s hands light tiny wildfires on Anakin’s skin as they finally grab at his hips.

     That’s when he feels it.

     Their bond is blinding him, searing so hot that he wants to pull away, but at the same time can’t imagine a galaxy without this light. It’s only a split second before Obi-Wan pulls him in.

\---

      _Damn you, Anakin._ He curses himself as the want starts to force itself between his shields. And once it starts, it initiates a torrent so strong that Obi-Wan loses himself. He wants. He wants nothing but to touch Anakin, touch him everywhere, map his skin with his tongue.  
     Anakin has no shame. The reciprocation in their bond makes him shudder and a low moan escapes as he reflexively pulls Anakin against him. Anakin’s lips capture his own, his tongue swiping quickly across his bottom lip; a proposition. Obi-Wan concedes, letting the man explore him with all of his fire as his own fingers dig into Anakin’s hips.  
     He doesn’t expect it when Anakin grinds into him, nor does he expect the sharp inhale he takes when it happens. All of the warmth that had colored his cheeks floods to his cock, but he doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, because Anakin has a hand on him before he can protest. Tight strokes have him keening, throwing his head back to let out shuddering gasps. _Fuck, it’s like he’s thought about this as much as I have tried not to._

     Obi-Wan feels a hand grab his wrist, pulling it from its grip on Anakin’s hip.

     “Obi-Wan, please. I need you to-” Anakin begs between his endeavors to make Obi-Wan’s neck a patchwork of bruises. “I need you to touch me.” Obi-Wan whines as Anakin’s lips suck on the sensitive skin at the base of his neck. His fingers wrap around Anakin’s cock and give an experimental stroke. The slew of curses that leave Anakin’s mouth would normally be cause for a reprimand, but it only stirs more of the heat that coils inside Obi-Wan.  
     He has Anakin practically bucking into his hand while Obi-Wan’s mouth finds his again. He’s swallowing the beautiful moans that Anakin makes as he picks up the pace. Pants of heated breath mix with the drone of the shower water pattering on the tile as the two men indulge in the feedback of their bond in the Force.

     Anakin is a sight to behold when Obi-Wan has him in hand. His tan skin ripples with muscle as he tenses from the pleasure that courses through their minds. His eyes grow dark with hunger, his lips are red and parted as pleas fall from them like a waterfall. They bring each other to the edge quickly, hands working in rhythm. Anakin spills into Obi-Wan’s hand and his forehead comes to rest on his shoulder as he rides out the last waves of his orgasm. Obi-Wan doesn’t last much longer, riding on the high of his partner’s ecstasy. He lets out a soft gasp and adds to the mess between them.

     The water had gotten cold awhile ago. They still stand in its spray and Obi-Wan feels his lips tugging into a smile he hasn’t worn since the war started. _I’m so fucked. He can never know._

     But he’s afraid that his shields won’t be strong enough. The soft laughter they share as they rinse off in the cool spray is only adding to the pile of adoration that stacks behind his walls. For a moment, he tricks himself into seeing the same feeling flash in Anakin’s eyes before they step out of the shower. But then he’s hopping out to dry himself and Obi-Wan is left standing in the shower, dripping with affection and water.

     He can pretend that he’s only hiding his attraction to Anakin, but it only makes every touch ache with guilt. It has been years of loneliness and a dedication to meditation that have kept him sound of mind until now. Obi-Wan had foolishly thought he was past the age of feeling the relentless tug of romance, but as he stares down at his toes on the soft bath mat, he knows it was not enough. He’s attached again. And his stomach turns in protest, because he knows he won't be able to let it go.  
     The lingering heat of Anakin’s touch that still warms his skin turns to a burning reminder of his failure to be emotionless, to embody the peace and serenity of a Master Jedi. He looks to the mirror with the expectation of seeing the guilt on his face, but is met with a blur of water droplets. The fog remains on the glass and he is given a chance to avoid the truth of his attachment for a moment longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...how was it?
> 
> Do you love them naked in the shower like I love them naked in the shower?
> 
> Let me know how you're feeling about this fic and this chapter in the comments below!! I love getting feedback and it keeps me motivated to update this story! I appreciate all of the love I've received so far. You guys are the best! I have big plans for this fic and I hope we can see it through to the end.
> 
> Also a special thank you to [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) and [theunethicalscientist](Theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com) for their hard work editing my chapters and for being so enthusiastic about my ideas! I couldn't do it without their support.
> 
> <3


	7. Scars and All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After finding out that their hotel room is full of recording devices, Anakin heads out to take care of things. 
> 
> The night doesn't quite go as planned and Obi-Wan finds himself at the mercy of relentless nightmares. Things have been weighing on the man's mind for days and it's starting to wear on him whether he wants to admit it or not.
> 
> These two have a lot of explaining to do and this is only the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, guess who returned from the dead? It's me!
> 
> First of all, I apologize. It's been like a month. Time flies when you're panicking about your future. My final year of undergrad has started up again and it demands more of my time than I'd prefer. 
> 
> When I finally got the urge to write, I realized that it wasn't going to be what I wanted. Anakin and Obi-Wan crossed a line the last time we saw them and although I'd love to move the plot along, they wouldn't let me. Sorry. If Anakin and Obi-Wan are going to get their shit together and be a real team, they need to either put their feelings behind them or start to truly explore and commit to them. Otherwise, the mission is going to end poorly for both of them.
> 
> I hope this can be a peace offering from me to you. Writing brings me joy when nothing else can. Each and every person that reads this means so much to me. I hope you can enjoy this chapter and I'll see you on the other side!

 

     Anakin doesn’t waste any time once he reattaches his lightsaber against his ribs and pulls a new set of clothes onto his still-flushed skin. He puts on the gold-rimmed glasses he borrowed from Galira for good measure. He wants to look like an unassuming guest that would wander the grounds of the hotel just to gawk at all of the wildlife he’s never seen before. 

     He turns back just before he steps into the entryway to see Obi-Wan finally emerging from the ‘fresher, the man’s auburn hair already slicked back into its signature style. He has a white towel wrapped around his waist, but his bare chest, scars and all, is still on display. Anakin lets his eyes drag across Obi-Wan’s frame, sends a smirk his way, and then turns heel to roam the halls of Taman Emas. He can feel the reprimand through the Force as he makes his way to the door.  _ It seems as if my old master has already regained his sense of dignity.  _

     Usually these thoughts would only lead him to huff about the stubbornness of Obi-Wan Kenobi, but a new feeling follows Anakin’s sigh. A twinge of disappointment lingers in his stomach as his right hand pulls the door to their shared room shut behind him. It almost beckons him to forget his objective and walk back in, demand that Obi-Wan explain why he feels the need to cover up after the lines they had crossed. 

     He puts a hand in the pocket of his tan linen pants, letting his body guide him toward the security room. His mind reaches out into the Force, letting the surrounding area become a map to him, his entity melding with the ground beneath him and walls beside him.  _ This shouldn’t take long at all.  _

 

\---

 

     When Anakin returns from his slicing and hacking escapades, the warm glow of the bedside lamps still paint the room with a shade of yellow that reminds him of the last of the Bar Nethian suns sinking under the horizon. He looks toward the patio, the transparisteel doors still open to canopy of the courtyard gardens, expecting Obi-Wan to be outside reaching into the living Force of the plants that surround him. But he isn’t there. Instead, Anakin finds the man with a datapad on his chest, head tilted to rest on the pile of pillows he’d propped himself up with earlier in the evening. Obi-Wan’s eyes are closed, his lips slightly parted as he takes the shallow breaths of sleep.  _ Botany must be more boring than he expected _ , Anakin thinks to himself. 

     Obi-Wan doesn’t stir when Anakin slips his shoes off in the entryway, nor when the younger man stands there, leaning against the ornate archway to take in the sight of his former master. Anakin only lets himself have a moment; one moment where his stomach is full of unfamiliar butterflies. Then he steps forward into the bedroom. 

     He lets out a breath of a chuckle as he grabs a woven blanket from the armoire, quietly places the datapad aside, and spreads the blanket over Obi-Wan’s sleeping frame. He stirs then. Anakin’s breath catches in his throat. He doesn’t wake. Anakin turns back to close the doors to the patio, but the faint breeze that floats in is just enough to make him wish for the warmth of the fresh sheets on their bed, so he decides to leave them open. The lamps are extinguished and he tugs off his clothes in favor of a pair of synth-cotton sleep pants. As he slides under the covers of his side of the bed, Anakin finds himself wondering if Obi-Wan would protest to him settling a little closer.  _ If he gets upset, I’ll tell him I must have been cold in my sleep. _ He entertains the idea for a moment, but the silence between them forms a wall that the “Hero with No Fear” doesn’t have the courage to break down. He faces the windows instead, his back toward Obi-Wan. 

     After the amount of information they’d acquired on the first day of their mission, a few hours of rest were a welcome gift to Anakin. He doesn’t hesitate when sleep overtakes his mind.

 

_      The colors he sees are too vivid. He recognizes the lake near Padme’s family home, the fields of wildflowers, and the thick jungles that border the territory. Something is off. The flowers aren’t the right colors. He knows they’re supposed to be yellow and pale orange, but they glow with such intensity that he is forced to look away. At the same time, the sky begins to darken. Clouds swirl overhead and Anakin turns to head back toward the house, but it’s no longer there.  _

_      It’s replaced by a room he has never seen before. It’s dark, with hundreds of levels, bars of the light lining the pathways and the walls around him. There are screams in the distance. He moved toward the sound, although he’s not sure where it will lead him. As he turns the corner, he sees a Jedi. It’s a man, short in stature with a glowing blue lightsaber at his side. Anakin steps toward him, calls out. He wonders who it is. Maybe he knows this Jedi. They can figure out how to escape this maze together.  _

_      He feels a warmth in his chest. He looks down. It’s a beam of red light, a lightsaber. The warmth becomes a searing pain he’s only felt once before. It’s as if his arm is being cut off all over again, but worse. It’s spreading through his insides. He thinks he’s screaming. But it isn’t him. It’s the other Jedi. He’s running toward him. Anakin reaches out-he’s dying. If he can just- _

_      “Anakin!” The shouts are so loud in his ears. He knows that voice. _

_      “No! Anakin, please!” _

 

_      Obi-Wan? _

 

_      The screams continue. Louder and broken and Anakin wants to open his eyes so bad, to tell him it will be okay- _

 

     Anakin’s eyes fly open, air rushing into his lungs as if he’s been suffocating for hours. He lurches upward, hands flying to his chest to feel for the cauterized wound from the lightsaber that had been there just moments ago. He blinks the vision from his eyes, but he can still hear the screams. 

 

_      Obi-Wan. _

 

     “Obi-Wan, wake up. It’s just a dream,” he shakes the man gently at first. It gets him to stop screaming, but he continues to sputter and shake, tears streaming from his closed eyes as he continues to watch the scene Anakin had escaped from. “Master.” He tugs on Obi-Wan’s shoulders.

     The man’s eyes open and his chest heaves as he is released from the clutches of the nightmare. In the darkness, Anakin can’t see the details of the familiar blue eyes that usually gaze at him with a hint of disapprobation, but he knows that what he sees isn’t the Obi-Wan he knows.

     “Master, are you okay?”

 

     All he gets is silence. Obi-Wan pushes himself up to a sitting position, wiping his eyes with the back of his wrist before settling his gaze on his hands, clasped in his lap.

 

     “Sorry to wake you,” he finally whispers. His fingers are still shaking.

 

     Anakin reaches out; places his hand on Obi-Wan’s. The man winces slightly, averting his gaze to the open patio doors. The breeze has picked up slightly, billowing the flimsi-thin curtains from side to side. Before he can protest, Obi-Wan extricates himself from Anakin’s grasp and heads for the open space of the garden’s canopy. It leaves him feeling empty, when he’d just so recently been filled to the brim with emotions. He thought he’d have to be used to this emptiness until he could reconcile with Padme; she was all he had, and she had let him walk away from her, as if he was an out-of-date piece of flimsiplast. The emptiness toys with him. The butterflies from earlier turn to moths that eat away at him from the inside. He would not settle for silence this time.

     “You can’t just walk away after that,” he calls out loud enough for Obi-Wan to hear.

 

     More silence.

 

     He huffs and untangles himself from the sheets. “Let me help.”

 

     “No, Anakin. Please just go back to bed. I can meditate for the rest of the night.” Obi-Wan’s gaze remains distant, as if he’s looking past the reaches of Taman Emas and out into the deserts of Bar Neth. As if that will give him the answer to his terrifying visions.

 

     Anakin prods at their bond, but it only causes Obi-Wan to ball his hands into fists.

 

     “Leave it.” Obi-Wan’s chest rises and falls slowly. “Please.”

 

     Anakin joins Obi-Wan on the patio, the starlight allowing him to shed the last wisps of the nightmare that clung to the corners of his vision. “If you’ll forgive me for saying this, Master,” he pauses to sit cross-legged beside the man. “We tried to ignore my nightmares about my mother and look where that got us.”

 

     “Anakin, I-” Obi-Wan’s legs seem to give out on him and he falls into a seated position behind his former Padawan. “I’m not supposed to give into my emotions like this. They reek of attachments that I’m not willing to acknowledge.”

 

     “I saw your dream.” He can’t help himself. He finds that the words just fall from his lips.

 

     “You what?” Obi-Wan finally meets his gaze and Anakin can see the terror in his eyes.

 

     “I think because of our bond, you somehow pulled me into your nightmare on accident. I was there. I didn’t recognize the building we were in though. Was it-” Anakin pauses. The pieces start to come together. He had been dreaming of Naboo. There must have been a link between the two. “Was this on Naboo?” 

 

     Obi-Wan nods.

 

     “Qui-Gon,” Anakin whispers, finally understanding.

 

     “Whenever I fall asleep, I relive the moments that I’ve tried to let go. The moments of greatest pain. Ever since my trip to the Wild Space with Bail, it seems as if my mind has been tainted with an ancient Sith holocron.” 

 

     “Why didn’t you say anything? Master Yoda or Master Windu could have helped, we could have-” He pauses to think. He doesn’t exactly know what the masters are capable of doing with ancient Sith holocron contamination. “Well they could have done something.”

 

     “We had other missions to attend to. I thought it was just going to force me to relive past events. I have tried to let go of my past, so I assumed I could handle it.”

 

     “But you were screaming my name.”

 

     Obi-Wan winces, his hands places on his knees. “It seems as if my mind has turned to torturing me with the things I care for.”

 

     “You see me dying, every night?” Anakin’s voice goes soft. It’s a pain with which he is deeply familiar. 

     Obi-Wan’s head drops. “Not every night.” Anakin raises an eyebrow, but Obi-Wan’s lips are parted as if he isn’t finished. “I don’t sleep every night. But when I mistakenly drift off, it’s all I see.”

\---

 

     Obi-Wan feels weak. If attachment is an ocean, he is drowning in it. He can feel the lingering question that rests on Anakin’s lips, but that he holds back. Obi-Wan cannot bear the tension.

 

     “I don’t know if it can be fixed.”

 

     Anakin’s brow furrows.  _ I don’t like where this is going.  _ “I don’t believe that for a moment.”

 

     Obi-Wan lets out a tired sigh and runs a hand through his hair. “What do you suggest then, Healer Skywalker?”

 

     “Well we could meditate together, try to purge the dark thoughts.”

 

     Obi-Wan admits that the sound of a joint meditation session tugs at the deepest parts of his soul. They hadn’t found a chance to meditate together since before their mission on Taris a standard month ago. His body aches to be one with the Force again. But a nagging thought lingered in his head. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I still feel a darkness surrounding this place. I’m not sure I want to open up to that.”

     Anakin nods, but takes up a seated position with his feet tucked underneath him. He faces toward Obi-Wan, silently inviting him to take up the pose. He can’t help but indulge the younger man. He glows in the Force, an irresistible source of warmth that begs to replace the cold desolation that crowds Obi-Wan’s mind. He welcomes the light. He begins to feel their Force signatures blending, mixing with the life around them. He is no longer a part of himself for a brief moment.

 

     Until he feels Anakin’s hand on his own, intertwining their fingers.

 

     His eyes blink open, but Anakin is still in a trance, unaffected by their physical contact.

 

     Obi-Wan can feel his heart betray him. It clenches. It reminds him of earlier in the evening, with nothing left to hide and bare skin to taste. He can’t afford this kind of indulgence.

 

     “I thought you disabled the cameras in our room.”

 

     Anakin hums. “I did.”

 

     Obi-Wan’s cheeks start to flush. “We really shouldn’t. Just do it normally. You don’t have to be,” he takes a breath. “Touching me.”

 

     “You would do the same to me if I was the one having Sith-induced nightmares.” Anakin’s eyebrow raises but his eyes remain closed. Obi-Wan is far from meditation now. He wills his face to return to its previous pallor, but it doesn’t respond to his efforts.

 

     “Yes, but it would be in an effort to care for you as any Master should.”

 

     “Masters don’t kiss their Padawans while they’re in the shower.” Anakin is laughing now, his attempts to fall into a state of peace finally broken. His blue eyes are dark with the lack of light and his soft lips are curved into a smirk. 

 

     “I was acting on impulses that I shouldn’t have.” Anakin’s enjoyment of the joke is broken by the way Obi-Wan berates himself. He can’t help but look away from the young man’s gaze. He isn’t worthy of attention. Not with the way he is acting on his desires, his attachments, the unnamed beast that clutches at his chest. And Anakin is having none of it.

     He’s flat on his back before he can make sense of it. Anakin’s body pressed against his own. A shiver runs through him and he opens his mouth to excuse it as a reaction to the wind blowing across the patio, but he finds that it seems to have stolen the breath from his lungs on its way through the courtyard. “I’m not your Padawan anymore, you know that, right?” His words are sharp, the accusation heavy on his chest.

 

     “Yes. I am aware. You have surpassed me in many ways, Anakin. You are a far greater Jedi than I could hope to be.”

 

     Anakin is leaning closer. “Not true. I’m a terrible Jedi, Obi-Wan. I’m brash and controlled by my emotions at every turn and you know it.” His legs are on either side of Obi-Wan’s hips, holding him to the floor. The man’s golden curls are a mess from sleep and Obi-Wan knows exactly what Anakin’s bare chest would taste like if he were to kiss a path down it. “You on the other hand, Obi-Wan Kenobi. You are the exemplary Jedi, a perfect example of control and distant compassion”

 

     He is breathing, trying to offer up a refute, but it’s lost in a mix of disjointed thoughts. Most of which involved his hands, which are currently clenched at his sides, either pushing Anakin far far away from him or dragging down the smooth tan skin and memorizing each rivet of muscle. 

 

_      There is no emotion. There is peace. There is no passion. There is serenity. There is no chaos. There is- _

 

_      Anakin. _

 

     He lets out the most embarrassing moan as Anakin’s lips find his own. Their lips easily fall into a cadence, following each other’s gentle movements. Anakin is playful, nipping and sucking at Obi-Wan’s lower lip in a way that has him gasping like he’s never breathed before. Their breath mixes as they break apart and Obi-Wan finds himself wishing that the moment will never end. He never knew he would wish to remain at one point in the galaxy. The idea of eventually becoming one with the Force never used to scare him, but he realizes now that it frightens him.

     He pushes the fear aside as he gazes into Anakin’s eyes. They are filled with that same look from the evening. Amid the teasing glint there lies another emotion that he can’t quite place; a look so familiar and yet so foreign.

 

     Devotion.

 

     Anakin leans back. “You can’t keep secrets from me, Obi-Wan.” Obi-Wan almost thinks that Anakin has figured out just how far gone he is but he notices the man’s face has slipped into an expression that Obi-Wan dares describe as bashful. It’s hard to see the flush by starlight, but when he reaches out into the Force for a moment, Anakin’s fluttering heartbeat is there to match the pace of his own. Anakin lets out a breathy laugh and pushes himself onto his feet to make his way back to bed. 

 

     “You know, I’m always here to listen if you need to get something off your chest.”

 

     Obi-Wan sits up, his head slightly spinning from the lack of air in the room, or maybe it’s just him. He gives himself a moment before returning to the bed to join Anakin. 

 

     Anakin has thrown an arm over his eyes in an attempt to regain his composure, but he peers out from underneath it to send one last smirk in Obi-Wan’s direction. “I’ll also take your mind off of things if you want.” 

 

     Obi-Wan lets out a short huff and it has Anakin giggling.

 

     “I’m convinced you’re just making fun of me,” Obi-Wan admits, tucking himself in.

 

     “It worked though, didn’t it? You’re not thinking about your nightmares.”

 

     Obi-Wan rolls over to look at Anakin once more before he resigns himself to sleep. The room is coated in a shade of blue darkness; a stark contrast to the golden light of the daytime. Anakin has a gentle smile on his face that Obi-Wan hasn’t seen since the war started. It brings back memories of swimming together in the Room of a Thousand Fountains, of midnight snacking on a cake stolen from the Temple cafeteria, of the man who shyly handed him a brand new cloak wrapped with simple ribbon on Obi-Wan’s last name-day. 

 

_      You’re so beautiful. _

 

\----

 

     The thought resonates in Anakin’s mind and the butterflies are back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew, it's weird to be back! This chapter makes me feel all warm and happy. I couldn't stop thinking about Obi-Wan in the starlight, barely holding it together. We also got to see Anakin's facade start to crack a little. He's been teasing and playing this whole thing off as a joke, but I think he's feeling a little more than he's letting on. We'll have to see how his emotions develop as this adventure continues. 
> 
> As for Obi-Wan! Oh fuck I love him. His cold exterior is melting. We're beginning to see the thoughts he has kept to himself start to bleed through into his actions and I live for it. 
> 
> Let me know what you guys thought of the chapter! I love feedback. I really hope everyone is enjoying the story. I haven't been this invested in a fic in a long time, but my heart is really in this one and I hope it shows.
> 
> As always, thanks to [selcier](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) and [theunethicalscientist](https://theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com/) for their feedback and help editing this chapter. I wouldn't be able to do it without them. You can also talk to me on the ol' tumblr if you want. I'm [lacontradictionvivante](http://lacontradictionvivante.tumblr.com/). I'm also [kenobiapologist](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com/) if you want to hear me screaming about star wars novels from time to time.


	8. Two Can Play This Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of indulgences in their mutual attachment, Anakin and Obi-Wan take time to actually work on their mission. Tmela Avos, leader of the biggest agricultural enterprise on Bar Neth, will not be kept waiting. She attempts to make a power move to get Obi-Wan's character, Sib Mihail, onboard with her genetic modification projects. Meanwhile, Anakin reads up on some background information about their next reconnaissance opportunity: the Taman Emas Laboratory Facilities tour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter has been waiting for me to post it all week! I'm excited to finally get it up here for you guys. I'm glad we were able to explore some of the feelings developing between Obi-Wan and Anakin in the past two chapters, but now we're going to move with the plot for a bit. Rest assured, there are still many obikin moments to be had. These two will not stop being cute! Something about Tmela Avos does not sit right with our two Jedi, so they start to become a little more wary of her and her organization. They hadn't expected to find such a strange situation here on Bar Neth. Will our favs ever figure out wtf is happening on this desert planet?? Why the fuck was that town deserted? Why were there smugglers with high-tech weapons on such a remote planet? Why are they collecting surveillance on their guests?
> 
> Well you won't find out quite yet. But eventually, I promise. Some clues will be planted. (Hehe, because it's a story about plants. Get it??) 
> 
> Jesus, I'm terrible. See you at the end.

     In the late morning, the Taman Emas estate lives up to its name. The rays of the suns warm the tan stone walls. The light reflects off the white pillars that outline the outside balconies and patios of the guest rooms. Truly a golden hotel if Obi-Wan has ever seen one. He stands in the shade of a broadleaf pilam tree with his hands in his pockets, watching the decorative pools of water glint and sparkle as a breeze stirs small waves within it. Qui-Gon would have loved to visit the estate, if only to observe the many rare species growing in the gardens.

     Before Obi-Wan can begin to appreciate the chance to be alone, he becomes aware of soft footsteps on the sandstone pathway to his right. He lets the being approach for a moment longer before allowing himself to visibly react, in case one were to notice his inhuman sensory capabilities. _Always being watched. I can’t forget that._ He’d gotten reckless last night.

     None other than Tmela Avos appears around the corner of the rounded pathway that encircles the courtyard gardens. The flimsy layers of white silk that had so elegantly wrapped her frame the previous evening have been traded for an ornate light blue dress that floats away from her legs as she walks. She brushes a headwrap away from her face as she approaches him. Her lips form a gentle smile. It’s as if she had expected him to be here.

 

_Maybe she is watching._

 

     The thought leaves a knot in his stomach and an ache in his healing leg. He can’t afford to seem adverse, so he returns the smile with one of his own.

 

     “Dr. Mihail.” Her voice is soft over the name.

     “Lady Avos.” _Two can play this game._ He offers her an arm and leads her deeper into the gardens. “What has happened to afford me the opportunity of seeing you so soon after our meeting? I admit I am pleased to have the chance.”

 

     Tmela can barely keep control of the smile that threatens to break through her facade. “I have managed to secure agreements with a select few representatives from Outer Rim that lack the land space to start long-term farming projects. They are most interested in the provisions I can supply to their smaller towns and colonies. A certain Markas Velt from Tatooine, I believe.”

 

     A wrinkle forms between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows. “The Hutt Cartel?”

 

     “Indeed. It’s splendid of them to invest any amount of time in their native population. It’s out of character, if I might say so. But they are supporting my cause, which is all I can ask for.” Her piercing gaze meets his own and he finds that his feet have stopped moving forward.

     He realizes that she has stricken a blow to his defenses. If he holds out on her proposition of partnership for too long, she will find other ways to fund her whims and fancies. And he needs her to need him if he’s going to find the source of this ever-present darkness. _I wonder if she is threatened by this darkness. If all of us are in danger._

 

     “Good news,” he hums, starting forward again. The breeze settles slightly as the gardens start to thicken with older trees and greenery that covers the land around them.

 

_Are there cameras in the trees as well?_

 

     “Although I can’t say I approve of the Hutt Cartel, if they are not planning on long-term agricultural partnerships with you, it’s frankly not my concern.”

 

     “Very true, my friend.” Tmela lets out a small laugh. “Have you considered my proposal?”

 

     Obi-Wan lets the question hang in the air. If he’s honest with himself, he hasn’t thought of it much in the past twelve standard hours. The realization paints his insides with guilt. The mission has fallen to the wayside because of his inappropriate feelings. And his indulgences.

 

     “What planets are you considering for this project with my modified plants?” He attempts to deflect the question.

 

     Tmela notices his discomfort, but doesn’t acknowledge it. “Lothal and Akiva come to mind.” Her eyes flit to her surroundings and she reaches out to grab a low-hanging flower as they pass a tree with wayward vines growing up the side. “Don’t tell me you are considering leaving these planets without sources of food?”

 

     Obi-Wan recognizes a tight spot when he’s in one. Tmela has clearly thought out multiple paths to success and Sib Mihail is only a small piece in the puzzle.

 

     She twirls the delicate flower stem in her free hand as she gently holds Obi-Wan’s arm with the other. “Think of how much profit there is. No one cares for these worlds, Sib. The Republic hasn’t sent anything other than war to the Outer Rim, and before that, there was only silence.” The flower loses a petal. “We are all on our own out here. We must pave the way for our own worlds.”

 

     He can feel the way her body tenses, the beginning of the flames that had raged within her as she had told stories of her past. Her lekku twitch in defiance of her composed face. “I will not let ignorance and complacency befall more worlds, when you and I have the power to stop it.”

 

     With that, it brings them to a spring deep in the woods of the gardens. Obi-Wan allows his attention to be drawn away from Tmela for a moment to take in the surroundings; the sounds of the creatures living in the trees, the rustling of the foliage around them. If Tmela weren’t proposing business deals to him, the patch of secluded nature would have felt intimate. The tension in her shoulders and arms melts away and she releases him from her grasp.

 

     “Consider my offer once more, Sib. Allow us to restore peace and security to these impoverished worlds.” Her hips sway gently as she walks away from him. A colorful winged insect lands on her shoulder, as if Tmela herself has become just another tree in the forest. “It’s quite simple. I’ve already developed the plants resistant to the conditions of Lothal, Akiva, and more. You need only permit me to distribute them.”

     She coaxes the insect onto her finger and glances back at Obi-Wan. He softens at the sight. She seems at home in this place, surrounded by the very things she lives to protect. Her deep blue skin glows against the backdrop of such lush greenery, and Obi-Wan has to blink away the painful vibrancy of it all. Bar Neth is still a desert planet. But not here; not near this woman.

     “An assistant of mine will be taking you and some other guests on a tour of the facilities this afternoon. Potentially that will peak your interest?”

 

     He laughs away the near-hopeful feeling that claws at his chest. “Certainly that of my companion. He’s quite the industrial engineer.”

 

     “Ah yes, your friend. Where might he be this morning?” The knowing smirk on her face tells him all he needs. _She thinks I’ve left him ravaged and unable to join me._

 

     “Most likely taking advantage of the room service while I’m leaving him to his own devices,” Obi-Wan allows a sliver of truth to escape. “We had quite the evening.”

     Tmela chuckles and he puts a hand in his pocket as he turns to leave. “It’s time I return to Devon. I assume I’ll be seeing you at the gala this evening?”

 

     “Along with the Prince of Akiva.” Tmela sits down next to the freshwater spring in the center of the clearing and lets her fingers linger in the grass.  “And Cal’shy, the current governor of Lothal. You will be fortunate to meet them in person tonight, Doctor.”

     Obi-Wan clenches his teeth in a show of resistance, although it only serves as a mask to conceal his thoughts. He thinks about the list of guests Galira had provided him with via datapad. Had he seen anyone by the name of Cal’shy? He couldn’t remember meeting them at the afternoon tea session, but it may have been too uncultured an event for a prince. Tmela’s words bring him back to the present.

     “You said you needed to approve the partners involved in this project. See if you can make nice with them tonight,” she turns to look at Obi-Wan one last time. “For me?”

     Their eyes lock and he finds himself under her spell for a moment, so unassuming in her place on the ground in the garden. He sees a young Twi’lek only wanting to return to her friends and family, forcing herself to be content to harvest the grains of her village’s desert crop. The young Twi’lek is now a woman with a dream; a goal. The hard set of her jaw and the polished movements of her fingers through the grass no longer ask him to cooperate. They tell him. _She has done this many times._ And if he wasn’t planning to use her to collect evidence of Bar Nethians conspiring with Separatists, he might even believe the lies that fall from his mouth so easily.

 

     “Of course. Anything for you, Tmela.”

 

     She gives him a final smile before he turns and heads back toward his room.

 

     ---

     Just as Obi-Wan expects, Anakin is lying shirtless in a pile of sheets, nibbling on the end of a piece of fruit he’s never seen before.

     “Where have you been?” He asks without looking up from the datapad in front of him. “I ordered breakfast.”

 

     “I see that,” Obi-Wan huffs, his arms crossed in mock irritation. Anakin just scoffs and takes another bite of fruit.

 

     He allows himself to relax out of the character of Sib Mihail and sits down on the edge of the unkempt bed. “I was having a conversation with Tmela out in the gardens.” The datapad is thrown aside and suddenly his field of view is all golden curls and furrowed eyebrows. “I haven’t agreed to help her, but I think she assumes I will eventually bend to her will if she takes me on enough romantic walks in the forest.”

 

     It should have earned him a laugh from the man, but the concern on his face doesn’t fall away. “Are we getting closer to-” he pauses. “Finding anything? Any Separatists?”

 

     Obi-Wan reaches out to the dish of fruit balanced amongst the sheets, plucking a single round berry from the mix. He chews slowly as he thinks, finding it sweeter than he expects. “Does the Prince of Akiva ring any bells?”

 

     Anakin hops out of the bed and grabs a pastry from the cart by the patio doors. “Not that I know of. Akiva, you said?” He hums, leaning against the doorframe. Obi-Wan watches as his former Padawan studies the fluffy bread, picking at a crispy end and tasting it. He furrows his brows and looks back at Obi-Wan.

 

     “It's an Alderaanian specialty. It has cream in the middle. You’ll like it.”

 

     He gets a smile for that. Anakin takes a bite, his cheeks puffed out to accommodate his insatiable hunger for sweets. “It’s a backwater planet, no allegiance to the Republic-” the words are distorted past the point of comprehension to anyone but Obi-Wan. Thankfully, he had copious amounts of practice deciphering his Padawan’s words while the boy was busy stuffing his face. _Some habits of living on Tatooine never fade._ “I don’t know very much about it.”

 

     Anakin calls the datapad to his hand from across the room. “Anakin,” Obi-Wan chastises.

 

     “Sorry, Master.” He tosses out the apology as a formality. Obi-Wan knows he’ll do it again.

 

     “While you’re at it, try Lothal as well.”

 

     They make eye contact and Anakin’s eyes widen in realization. “Did she really pick two?” Obi-Wan nods and Anakin takes a vicious bite out of his pastry, sending the powdered sugar garnish straight onto the floor. “I thought we told her to keep a low profile about it?”

 

     “Apparently two uncivilized planets count as low profile, and I can’t say I disagree,” Obi-Wan admits, running a hand through his hair. “Is there anything in common between these two planets?”

 

     Anakin focuses in on the datapad, scrolling through pages of information as Obi-Wan continues to pick through the fruit next to him. “We know she wants to provide food security to the surrounding planets. Maybe these two planets would benefit the most from a partnership.”

 

     Obi-Wan nods. It would be smart of her to rope several planets into an agreement, leaving them personally responsible for the success of her business endeavors. “They aren’t financially stable though. There’s something else going on here.” _If they couldn’t provide support monetarily, could they provide something else? A resource, perhaps?_ Obi-Wan opens his mouth to voice his thoughts, but Anakin beats him to it.

 

     “Master, listen to this. Lothal was apparently in dire need of aid last year due to an airborne plague that destroyed ninety-percent of their grain fields. And in this article from four months ago, it says Akiva had to burn a substantial amount of its fruiting forest plots in the northern region of Wela due to an uncontained bacterial blight. They had to increase production of their other exports by 14 million credits worth in order to compensate for the loss of the fruit.” Anakin steps away from the patio and tosses the datapad to Obi-Wan. “I think she’s offering them first-dibs on the plants she’s trying to sell illegally, in exchange for test-subjects and monetary support.”

 

     “It won’t be illegal if she gets me to agree to her terms,” Obi-Wan huffs. Yoda had placed them directly in the middle of the operation here on Bar Neth, whether he had meant to or not. _Knowing Yoda, he meant to._ “If I end up giving her permission to distribute those mutant plants, will it lead us closer to the root of this plot?”

 

_And what if the real Sib Mihail figures out what I might have to agree to? The Republic is going to have some explaining to do._

 

     “We still don’t know how the smugglers are connected in all of this. Are they connected at all?” He feels pressure building in his temples and has to stifle the frustration that bubbles up in him.

 

     Obi-Wan closes his eyes, reaching deeper into the Force for a moment. He can feel Anakin’s anticipation, the excitement of completing their mission here on Bar Neth. But Obi-Wan can’t help but think of the darkness that had seeped through the deep-red sands of Lower Seles when they arrived in the capital. “That is how it seems,” his voice softens from his doubt. “But I am not certain that we’re seeing the entire picture.” He keeps his eyes closed, trying to test the links they’ve discovered for verity. To his dismay, everything is clouded. _Is it the dark side? Or is it my own misguided thoughts that distract me?_

 

     “Do you think the darkness we’ve been feeling is because there is Separatist involvement that we can’t see?”

 

     Obi-Wan’s mind races as he tries to unravel the threads of deceit surrounding this golden hotel. _It’s possible that Tmela could sign a contract with these Separatist leaders, and although she isn’t formally the leader of Bar Neth, she controls their entire agricultural and financial sector. If Dooku got his hands on this planet and its ties to the rest of the Outer Rim, he would be able to effectively shut down the trade routes of an entire sector of the galaxy. Only the Hutt Cartel could make him pay for such acts, with the Grand Army of the Republic spread so thin across the galaxy. And based on the appearance of representatives from Tatooine and Nar Shadaa, the Hutt Cartel is aligned with Tmela as well._

 

     Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open when he feels a hand on his shoulder.

 

     “Master, you should probably eat something other than fruit.” The words are accompanied by a plate of roasted tubers and braised meat being placed in front of him. “You always told me not to worry on an empty stomach. And Force, I can feel you doing it right now.”

 

     He feels his face flush and masks the reaction by shoving a piece of tuber in his mouth. His embarrassed gratitude hovers in the bond between them, blending with Anakin’s amusement. Obi-Wan hopes Anakin can’t tell how a new pit of warmth grows in his chest, a lone candle that brightens every time the man shows him any demonstration of kindness. _This is stupid. Of course he cares. I was his Master. That doesn’t mean anything out of the ordinary. I’m losing my kriffing mind._

     “I sense that there is a lot more involved in this tangle of treason than we currently know, Anakin. We have to be very careful today.”

 

     “I agree.” Anakin’s cheeks are puffed out again as he attempts to devour an entire jelly-filled cake in one bite.

 

     They fall into a companionable silence as they finish the breakfast before them. It seems as if more deceit and investigation were ahead of them. If only Obi-Wan could locate the source, he might be able to ascertain how to control the plot of Tmela Avos. The sooner they could discover the secrets of Bar Neth, the sooner they could leave. Anakin sits beside him, sorting through the fruit dish to pick out all of the blue berries Obi-Wan had nibbled on earlier. He drops them onto Obi-Wan’s plate as he finds them, sending him a soft smile that makes Obi-Wan’s heart beat like he’s hanging off the edge of a cliff. _Getting off this wretched planet can’t come soon enough._

\---

     “And if you take a look to your right through the transparisteel guards, you’ll see the processing facilities for all of our cereal grains. We manufacture over 700 types of grain currently, enough for the palettes of every single guest here at Taman Emas, regardless of species. These grains are exported to various planets in the Outer Rim, allowing Bar Neth to become the single largest supplier of food in this region.” A thin woman in a grey suit leads them through the pristine hallways of the Taman Emas processing center.

 

     “Another reason to partner with Lothal,” Anakin whispers to Obi-Wan, resting a hand on the man’s back as he leans close to Obi-Wan’s ear. “Maybe they’re just field-test subjects after all.”

     Obi-Wan raises an eyebrow as if Anakin has said something particularly surprising, a smirk growing as he leans back to meet Anakin’s gaze. “That is exceedingly inappropriate, Devon. You will mind your manners.” The facade is partnered with a surge of agreement in the Force. Obi-Wan is becoming more confident in their predictions as they learn about the operations of Tmela’s business.

 

     Anakin snorts at their faux affection, turning his attention back to the rumbling machines behind the clear panes of transparisteel that separate them from the factories. There are spotless silver mills that turn endlessly, bright yellow seeds spewing from the opening on one side. Conveyors shuttle the seeds through a fine misting apparatus that coats each grain with something Anakin can’t place. _Water? A growth-enhancer of some kind?_ He pauses next to the window, trying to decipher what the equipment was doing.

 

     “Sir, your group is continuing onto the growth chambers. Please proceed to the next room so you don’t fall behind.” A soft-voiced woman breaks his concentration.

 

     “What is that spray doing?” He doesn’t move from his spot in front of the window.

 

     “Sir, you really sho-”

 

     “Is it a seed coat dissolvant? A beneficial bacteria solution?” He can feel Obi-Wan tugging at his mind, wondering why he isn’t with the group.

 

     “It’s a nutritional aid for our plants, Mister-” she pauses, struggling for a way to address him.

     “Aristides. Devon Aristides.”

 

     “My apologies, sir!” She bows, a pile of folders clutched to her chest. “I was not aware that you would be touring our facilities today.” She straightens up, brushing back a strand of blonde hair that escaped from her bun. “We spray each seed with a combination of compounds that ensure our product is ready to germinate in any environment, no matter how inhospitable! It’s quite remarkable, a revolutionary addition to our grains that we export.”

 

     “What makes it so remarkable compared to what we already use in the Core Worlds?”

 

     “A compound extracted from keftite is the active ingredient,” she said, smiling. “It dramatically increases the absorption of other compounds without inducing cell death. As efficient a regulator as I’ve ever seen,” the woman laughs and Anakin lets himself smile in return. He doesn't recognize the name of the compound, nor was it in the details Galira had supplied them with before the start of their mission. He'll have to ask Obi-Wan about it when they get back to their room.

 

     Anakin thanks her, turning to follow the diminishing voice of the tour guide for their group. He can’t help but stand a little taller, walk with a spring in his step. That woman had recognized him; not Anakin, but Devon. And the level of respect he had received was much greater than that of the aristocrats and representatives he had communed with during yesterday’s tea. Maybe he could use this to his advantage. Being Sib’s attractive little engineer won’t be so bad now that they are in his domain.

  


**_Obi-Wan. They are adding stuff to the grains they’re selling. Seems kind of shady._ **

 

     His Master whips his head around quicker than he should, garnering the attention of several people beside him. “Where have you been, you deviant?”

 

     “No worries, Sib. You know how my mind wanders,” he bats his eyelashes for good measure as he reaches out to take Obi-Wan’s hand. The man snorts, but he feels the worry coursing between their joined hands.

 

**_We’re about to enter the greenhouses. Please refrain from disappearing._ **

 

**_I thought it was subtle enough._ **

 

**_You’ll have to try harder than that. Our guide was giving me a look._ **

 

     Obi-Wan’s thought is accompanied by a raised eyebrow and a patronizing look out of the corner of his eye while he appears to pay attention to the droning tour guide. Anakin brushes off his concerns, turning his attention back to his surroundings. Scientists and politicians bunch them toward the center of the crowd, denying him a view of the “state-of-the-art” greenhouses he was hearing so much about. Some of the people give him a once-over as he pulls Obi-Wan closer, most likely disapproving of their close contact.

     Professional setting be damned, Anakin was not going to pretend that he wasn’t here just because Sib Mihail was toting him like the cash winnings of a podrace. Obi-Wan is more comfortable, he can tell by the way he doesn’t hesitate to run his free hand over Anakin, softly tracing the soft skin of his inner forearm. It is meant to imitate confidence, casual affection; it only makes him think of last night in the shower. Anakin swallows back the urge to shiver or sigh into the older man’s touch.

     Luckily, he doesn’t have to distract himself for long. They are led into one of the greenhouses and Anakin is welcomed by the thick scent of life. Various pots line the hovering trays that extend for around fifty paces, he guesses. It is hard to tell with the way a second level of hanging plants droop down into the walkways from their baskets attached to the ceiling. Their long tendrils reach out to him so strongly that Anakin has to purposefully shield himself from them in the Force.

     The tour guide beckons them deeper into the rows of plants, explaining what each section is growing. He watches as Obi-Wan drops his hand gently and gravitates toward the front of the group, clearly enraptured by the words she speaks. Anakin can’t say the same. The barrage of life around him fills his soul against his will. He finds his feet are pulling him to a corner deeper into the greenhouse, to a section of deep green grasses. Their leaves are coated in a fine mist that reflects the artificial light in every direction. He walks past them, fingers spread out to touch them gently as he passes. They subtly reach back to him. Anakin feels them responding. His nose tickles from his attempts to deny his connection to the Living Force.

     As he reaches up to brush away the feeling, a short man approaches him, hands buried deep in his lab coat pockets.

 

     “Find something of interest?” He smiles, clearly proud of the creations around him.

 

     “These ones,” Anakin pauses, gesturing in the air as he looks for words to describe the plants without mentioning that he can literally feel them. “Seemed particularly vibrant. They’re beautiful.”

 

     “You were drawn to them, weren’t you?” The man speaks frankly, reaching out to brush one of the nearby grasses. Anakin almost loses his breakfast at the man’s words. The shock is apparent in his own eyes, he knows by the way the man chuckles. His brown eyes are pinched shut by the roundness of his cheeks when he laughs. “They’re a sentient form of sencha grass. They grow flowers a meter up from the base during the late summer, covered in circular seeds. Since they’re sentient, it makes harvesting a lot easier.” His laughter has faded into a warm smile and his hands busily pick dead matter from the packed dirt in the pots beside him. “They’re aware of our efforts to cultivate them, so they drop the seeds readily when we pass through with our machinery. No need to uproot the fields each year. We protect them from predators, and they give us enough food to survive. Quite the partnership!”

 

     “Where are they from, originally?” Anakin is curious. He’s never heard of a sentient grass species before, but it certainly explains the way they keep reaching to wrap around his wrists when he stands still.

 

     “Lothal. We were lucky to have seed stocks of these guys when the plague ran through their fields a while back.” The scientist furrows his brow, meeting Anakin’s gaze with a seriousness in his eyes. “If we hadn’t developed these resistant strains, I’m afraid we would have lost the entire species.”

 

_Perfect._

 

     Anakin mirrors the man’s slight frown, nodding in agreement. Inside, his stomach lurches. Unknowingly, he has discovered one of the plants Tmela had developed without Sib’s permission. The very plants she is planning to ship out to Lothal. The plants can feel his excitement, a single leaf winding itself around his pinky as he clasps his hands behind his back. Anakin allows himself a single whisper past his shields.

 

**_I need each of you to give me a single leaf._ **

 

     It is more than enough. Anakin lets the scientist lead him through the rows, nodding and asking questions when he can get a word in. _This tiny man is certainly passionate about his work._  On the opposite side of the greenhouse now, he has collected handful of samples from the Lothal grasses, freely volunteered to him by the plants themselves. He nods to them, and although he knows they cannot see him do it, he knows they will feel his gratitude. He shoves the blades of grasses into the inner pocket of his navy jacket when his companion isn’t looking. It’s almost comical how easy it is. He feels a quiver of concern only when he notices that Obi-Wan and the group have long since moved onto a different section of the Taman Emas facilities. _Well, kriff. Where are they?_

     He stops to listen for them, to test his bond with Obi-Wan, but the scientist in front of him won’t stop talking. Without a second thought, he waves a hand in front of the scientist’s face.

 

     “You want to head to your office now.”

 

     “I-” the scientist sputters the sentence as if it doesn’t quite make sense. “Want to head to my office now.”

 

     “I am free to wander the grounds as I please.”

 

     “You are free to wander the grounds as you please.” As Anakin’s mind trick takes hold, the man relaxes into the lies that spill from his mouth.

 

     He turns to leave, but Anakin stutters out a final request. “You will show me the fruit trees for Akiva!”

 

     “I will show you the fruit trees for Akiva,” the man smiles, his eyes glazed over. The lack of passion Anakin had become accustomed to puts him on edge. He doesn’t like to trick the mild-mannered man, but he needs to make sure he comes out of this excursion one step ahead of Tmela and her team.

 

     These trees aren’t sentient like the sencha grasses, but they offer tiny unripened green fruits just as easily. He heads toward the doors of the greenhouse and stumbled upon a young assistant carrying a hose. He scratches his head, feigning an exasperated excuse about getting distracted by the beauty of the plants. The assistant guides him out, eyeing him without saying a word while they walk. He thanks the boy and sends Obi-Wan a wave, almost at a jog by the time he reaches the group once more. The man is in a heated argument with the tour guide, tugging at his perfectly combed hair in frustration.

     “I can’t believe you managed to move us along without making sure the entire group was present! What if he’s trapped in one of your-” Obi-Wan breaks to glance around the hallway. “Facilities.” He spits the word like a curse before his eyes land on Anakin.

     “Oh my,” he sighs, pushing some of the others aside to reach him. His warm hands clasp Anakin’s face, pulling them close together. “You’ll drive me nuts like this, Devon.” He turns back to the tour guide. “This woman nearly lost you for good.”

 

     “My apologies, Dr. Mihail,” her face is red with shame. She bows slightly and turns to begin their walk down the clinical white hallway toward a pair of steel doors.

 

     A red-skinned Keldor tuts as she passes the two of them, whispering to her companion. “It’s not as if the man is a child. Sib is so demonstrative, it sickens me.”

 

     Anakin hears the Bruvian male beside her grunt in agreement, but doesn’t let himself bristle at the comment. Instead, he laughs. His forehead rests against Obi-Wan’s shoulder, letting himself have a minute to savor the scent of medicinal herbs that linger on the man’s skin. For a moment, Anakin doesn’t know if he’s still in character. Or doing it because he’s playful. He doesn’t know what he’s doing at all.

 

     The words from last night ring in his ears as if they’d been said aloud.

 

_You’re so beautiful._

 

     He pulls back reluctantly. _Beautiful isn’t something you say when you’re pretending._ Anakin knows that.

 

     They brush shoulders as they walk through the steel doors and take in the details of the pristine laboratories. His fingers play with a single green fruit, rolling it back and forth in his palm. He wonders what it would have tasted like if it had a chance to ripen. Maybe it would be sour, like the citrus fruits Padme always perched on the edges of her glasses of water. Or sweet, like the berries Obi-Wan had eaten this morning.  He squeezes the fruit gently, his eyes flickering to Obi-Wan’s face.

 

     But he’ll never know what it could have been. It will always be bitter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter started getting away from me! It's quite long! 
> 
> I hope you guys are enjoying the mission at least a little bit. I pepper in some affectionate moments so that you guys don't get too bored with all of my biology garbage. Can you tell what I work on for a living? 
> 
> I personally love the end. Anakin isn't quite sure what to make of Obi-Wan's thought that slipped out the previous night. He was hoping it was all fun and games, just messing around on the mission that he could toss aside once he returns to Coruscant. But it's clearly developing into something he doesn't know how to handle. Yet he doesn't want to let it go. They need each other. 
> 
> And when will he have to admit that he's been having a thing with Padme?? It's certainly going to fuck everything up. I'm not ready for all of the shit that is going to go down. THESE TWOOOOO. This is when I head over to 36 Questions to soothe the wounds in my heart from obikin communication issues. Which btw, if you haven't read yet, you should! It's a wip but I love it dearly.
> 
> Thanks to [theunethicalscientist](https://theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com/) for being my biology consultant, plot-hole finder, and lovely comment writer. <3 <3 
> 
> You can check me out on [my main tumblr](http://lacontradictionvivante.tumblr.com/) or my [ star wars novel commentary blog](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com/). Thanks for reading!


	9. Evil Far Greater Than a Burglar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys split up and find that things are far more dangerous than they’d thought. With pockets full of mutant plants, Anakin goes in search of some answers to the Taman Emas Laboratory’s secrets. And when he returns, Obi-Wan is confronted with a truth he’s been ignoring for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I find that my mind only wants to focus on this WIP, so I hope you won’t mind reading more of this trash I’m so fond of. This chapter had a completely different ending that I had to scrap because too many emotions were happening at once. My one and only theunethicalscientist had to come in and help me rework the whole thing. 
> 
> This story means the world to me. I hope you enjoy it too. 
> 
> See ya at the end!

     Obi-Wan releases the breath he doesn’t know he’s holding when he shuts the door behind him; the click of the lock confirms that he and Anakin are finally alone again. The air surrounding his former Padawan had taken on the familiar weight of darkness soon after they extricated themselves from the tour group of Tmela’s extensive laboratories and greenhouses. He watches as Anakin slips the shoes from his feet and gently settles his jacket on the back of an intricately carved wooden desk chair in the corner of the bedroom. Obi-Wan follows suit, although refraining from the breaking the silence between them. Anakin bends down, rummaging through pockets as if he is looking for something.  
     Obi-Wan spots a stripe of green. His eyebrow raises involuntarily and his lips part to ask a question but Anakin holds up a hand to stop him. He then sets himself to work, spreading tiny strips of what looks to be grass across the dark wooden desk, Anakin’s lips forming silent words as he aligns them all in a row. Obi-Wan draws closer, peering over Anakin’s shoulder to watch him as he works. There doesn’t seem to be any rhyme or reason to it; all of the grass looks exactly the same.  
     It takes a multitude of tiny green fruit spilling onto the desk for Obi-Wan to finally cut through the heavy quiet in the room.

     “I’m assuming you found these in one of the greenhouses?”

     Anakin nods, tapping on the desk with two fingers while staring at two tiny fruit.

     “And am I also correct in assuming you didn’t receive permission to collect these samples?” His question is cut short by Anakin whirling away from his collection of plant matter to face him.

     “These are the same plants we read about on the Holonet. The sentient grasses on Lothal, the fruit trees damaged in Akiva. They had small populations of every single one.”

     “Tmela does pride herself in being able to help planets conquer plagues and blights. I would think she amassed a living library of sorts to protect her assets in case of disease,” Obi-Wan muses, touching his beard out of habit.

     “But Obi-Wan, I talked to a scientist while I was wandering around. He said if they hadn’t modified these grasses, the whole species would have been wiped out.” Obi-Wan blinks, unsure of what Anakin was implying. Anakin sighs, turning back to the lines of grass blades and round fruit. “What if it’s not what we think? What if she’s not helping them, but taking advantage of their distress to expand her business?”

     When Obi-Wan lets the idea sink in, he finds that his stomach twists into knots. Anakin isn’t wrong. Tmela had placed herself in the position to provide the sole remaining population of sencha grass to the people of Lothal, therefore controlling their access to a critical food security crop. Not only that, but the sencha grasses themselves were in debt to her, as their culture and families would have been eradicated without intervention by her scientists. The poor and merchant classes of Lothal were under her thumb, whether she had planned it or not.

     “I wouldn’t have jumped to that conclusion with just the sencha grass alone, but there were hundreds of different species in that greenhouse. She may be controlling the production of more crops than we know.”

     Anakin steps aside and retrieves the datapad left on the bed, as well as a small bioscanner in one of the Obi-Wan’s bags. Obi-Wan hums as he runs through everything he knows about Tmela and her entrepreneurial ventures. They had seen a variety of seed already being manufactured for sale when they toured the Taman Emas facilities. But yet she is requesting the permission of Sib Mihail. _Are these plants different than the ones producing grains for the local Bar Neth markets?_

     Obi-Wan’s mind turns over what he knows of Sib Mihail’s projects, lingering on the set of plants he’d manufactured years ago for Bar Neth’s terraformation Project. The ones Tmela had grown in her childhood. They had been made with enchanted nutrient absorption. Resistance to drought. It had seemed pretty standard in Obi-Wan’s opinion, but not all planets needed the same pathways altered in their crops. Places like Naboo didn’t need drought resistance; there was plenty of water yearround. So Tmela needs the specific gene alterations of Sib Mihail’s mutant plants, in conjunction with further modifications done by her scientists, supposedly for pathogen resistance. _What had she changed? Why was it requiring massive supplies of keftite?_  
     It seems as if Anakin has the same questions. He allows the laser on the bioscanner to capture each blade of grass; places it on top to puncture the grass and take a tissue sample.

     “Are you planning on analyzing each sample?” Obi-Wan asks, turning to search for another scanner so he can aid in the collection process. Anakin shakes his head.  
  
      “Our datapad doesn’t have the processing power for this kind of sequence alignment. We’ll have to open a connection to a facility outside of Bar Neth that can take a closer look at the genetic makeup.” Anakin speaks as if it is a simple task, but Obi-Wan’s hand freezes over one of the tiny fruit.

     “I’m not sure that’s the best idea, Anakin. We would be jeopardizing our cover.”

     “Not we-” Anakin tilts his scanner, assessing the three-dimensional rendition displayed on the screen. “Just me. You have to stay here and keep up appearances.”

     The last sample enters the datachip with a beep and Anakin pockets the scanner. For a moment, he pauses and looks around, his eyes landing on the refuse chute discreetly embedded in the wall of the entryway. Anakin scrapes the grass into his hand, making to toss it away but Obi-Wan places a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

     “We don’t know if they monitor their waste. It might be best to take an afternoon stroll through the gardens,” Obi-Wan says, filling Anakin’s hands with the Akivan fruit. They begin to pile up and it draws a chuckle from him. “You didn’t have to pick this many, you know. I’m sure three would have been satisfactory.”

     Anakin smirks but doesn’t rebut, instead focusing on stuffing the green fruit into every available pocket.

     “Meet me back here in an hour,” Obi-Wan calls as he walked toward the doorway. “I’ll try to arrange your transport to the city center so you can send out your message.” Anakin nods, his shoes back on his feet and glasses discarded on the desk. Obi-Wan watches him peer out onto the patio, then launch himself over the side of the balcony into the bushes below. _You’ve never been good at subtle, Anakin._

\--

     Obi-Wan doesn’t waste time making his way to the front desk, greeted by the same weathered face of Noh Tersem when he arrives in the lobby.

     “How may I assist you, Dr. Mihail?”

     Obi-Wan keeps pace with him as they make their way to recessed service area, hidden behind thick white pillars that support to upper level open air corridors and waterfall-view balconies. “My companion is in need of transport to the city center this afternoon. Would you be able to arrange a speeder for him?” Obi-Wan lets his face soften, hoping to exude the warmth he so often used to his advantage when on the brink of Separatist capture.

     “I can have one ready within the hour, sir. Will that be soon enough for Mr. Aristides?”

     “Certainly,” Obi-Wan is surprised by the ease at which he had secured passage out of Taman Emas. From the time they had arrived at the golden hotel, it had seemed like a prison of sorts. The cameras in their quarters certainly weren’t helping that feeling disappear. “Shall I escort him here by then?”

     Tersem only shakes his head, placing an activator chip on the counter between them. “No need, sir. He may choose any of the speeders at our landing pad. I will request that whichever vehicle he takes be returned in good condition.”

      Obi-Wan nods. “I’ll be sure to inform him.” He highly doubted Anakin would have the time to destroy a speeder in the short trip from Taman Emas to Upper Seles, but he wouldn’t put it past the man to stir up trouble. It made him uneasy to separate when it was so close to the time of negotiation between himself as Sib Mihail and the members of Tmela’s committee. He gives Tersem a cordial nod and turns to leave, but the man’s voice rings out one last time.

     “Tmela is expecting your presence at the gala this evening as well. I will visit your quarters when it is time to escort you to the ballroom.”

     Another reminder. This mission is only starting to begin.

\---

  
     Anakin grips the control arms of the speeder with a tightness commonly associated with anxiety, but in his heart, he only feels freedom. The remains of his greenhouse sample collection had been disposed of among the gardens of the hotel, crushed beyond recognition. The suns beat down on the sandy streets of Upper Seles as he came closer to the residence of their contact from days ago, Galira.

     He can feel the heat as it flows in through the side windows of the enclosed speeder; he had opened them to rustle his hair and clothes a bit, just to rid himself of the rigid persona this mission has been forcing onto him. It feels calming to guide the black speeder between lanes of traffic, stirring up clouds of dust as he whips around corners and cuts through alleyways. It is only the lingering darkness of the Force around him that warns him to park a few kilometers away from Galira’s apartment, amidst the bustling midday markets. _Just in case someone is following me,_ he reminds himself. _Just because I’m outside the walls of Taman Emas does not mean I have escaped the influence of Tmela Avos._ She had made that clear from the moment they met.  
     He is in the middle of trying to recall the exact code manipulation sequence he had used last time he sent a transmission from a personal dataport when a wall of disturbance hits him. Anakin freezes in the courtyard of Galira’s borough, sensing the space around him. It is strong, this feeling of coldness, of fear. The fountain outside her building is bubbling gently, just the same as when they had first visited. The curtains are drawn but that doesn’t seem like a reason for concern. Anakin feels his body start to reel as he approaches the front door, so he stops to admire the flowering bushes beside him to hide his apprehension. A woman wrapped tightly in a white shawl passes by, a basket of vegetables hanging in the crook of her arm. She barely steps by him; he’s been sure to hide himself in the Force since he left the speeder. The passersby do not even know he is there.  
      He backtracks to the side entrance. Anakin places a hand on the doorknob in preparation to manipulate the lock mechanism, but it slides away from his hand, the door sliding open with ease. His skin prickles. Something is very wrong. Anakin steps inside, checking with his eyes and the Force for intruders, but doesn’t find any. He slides the door shut behind him. It is eerily quiet. It had not felt that way when he was here last.  
     Anakin doesn’t dare call out to Galira. His hand absently reaches down to his waist as if to call his lightsaber to it, but he remembers that it lays wrapped in the pile of clothing from the prior evening’s escapades in the shower. Now, he curses himself in his head. It isn’t as if he needs a lightsaber to put up a fight against a common thief, but the utter lack of warmth in the apartment speaks of an evil far greater than a burglar in search of jewelry or tech to pawn. His steps make no sound as he pads up the curved staircase, and still he sees no evidence of theft. It isn’t until he reaches the top of the staircase that the air changes.

     It smells of death.

     Anakin’s face contorts with disgust as he pushes gently on the door left cracked open on his left. A body lies limp in an upholstered vanity chair, a pot of black powder on the floor beside it, overturned and staining the soft carpet like scorched carbon. Galira’s eyes are glazed and lifeless, her dressing gown coated in rivets of dried blood that seems to have originated from a rough cut across her neck. He slowly approaches her, stepped over the spilled makeup and reaching to force her eyelids closed. The cold dread in the room begins to twist into currents of fear, shock, and struggle. The scrapes on her hands and the contusion on her face tell him that she put up a fight, but ultimately lost. The Force bleeds images of panic across his vision, forcing him to live the pain he had only missed by a mere six hours at best. Someone had come for her this morning.

      Anakin’s eyes squeeze shut and he forces himself to quell the twitching of his muscles that beg him to seek revenge. She had been a great help to them, a friend of the Jedi, despite the stereotypical nature of her species. Silenced. For helping them.

     There is no doubt in his mind. Galira had been killed for coming into contact with him and Obi-Wan. There isn’t a single question that stands out to him, instead a flurry of different panicked thoughts swirling inside as he moves Galira’s limp form from the chair onto the bed. He places her hands clasped across her chest and wraps her in a sheet. Someone has figured out that they are not doctors, not students of engineering or botanists seeking knowledge. Whether they have figured out he is a Jedi, he does not know. But there isn’t much time before the gala begins, and he has a transmission to send. And a body to bury.

\---

      Anakin signs off the holotransmission and ends the connection. The closest Jedi-sympathizing planet to them had been Naboo, just outside the Outer Rim territories. He hopes the scientists there will be able to decode the genomic alterations done by Tmela and her team, but also that they will be able to send another Republic agent to take care of Galira. He feels guilty about leaving her body behind, but with a murderer on his tail, he doesn’t have the resources to extract her from Upper Seles. He sends a separate transmission farther into space, to Coruscant. Yoda must know the state of their mission. An agent had been compromised. His identity was in question. The only evidence he has of Tmela’s involvement with Separatists is that she likes to wine and dine with them. She seems to have her own insidious plan. The mission is getting more and more tangled, and that isn’t even considering the way his brain had swirled with visions of bare skin and soft lips this morning.

      It seems grotesque now, to think of those things.

      The datachip from his bioscanner crumbles into dust when he clenches his fist. There will be no more evidence for them to follow. He doesn’t dare send a transmission to Obi-Wan. He knows they’re watching and the trail ends here.

\---

      When Anakin returns to their room, they both open their mouths to speak at the same time.  
  
     “Master, I-”

     “Anakin, there’s-”

     Obi-Wan can feel the death on Anakin and his heart jumps out of his chest. He clamps his mouth shut, hoping that Anakin isn’t about to suggest they make a run for the spaceport. Much to his relief, Anakin only comes to join him on the edge of the bed, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his head in his hands. The long sigh that escapes him speaks of the distress before he can explain it himself. Obi-Wan feeds a thread of empathy out into their bond before speaking. “I feel the same way. Things are not looking good for us.”

     Anakin starts again. “Master, I found something.”

     “I can sense the death on you, Anakin. What happened?”

     “Galira. Someone killed her this morning.”

     Obi-Wan pauses, his hand finding Anakin’s knee. He gently rubs, as if it will release the tension in the younger man’s body. No matter how many times in this blasted war he witnesses it, the death of his comrades always shakes Anakin. This time is no different; another mission is going off the rails despite their best efforts to follow the instructions of the Council. For a long moment, neither of them say anything. A moment for Galira.

     Finally, Obi-Wan’s hand stills. “Did you find any evidence of the attacker’s motive? Are you certain that they are enemies of the Republic?”

     “Whoever it was must have identified us soon after we arrived at the hotel,” Anakin speaks, but his mind is clearly elsewhere. “I used her holocommunicator to send off transmissions of the plant samples to a laboratory on Naboo. And also an encrypted report to Coruscant.”

     Obi-Wan nods. It may help that the Council knows of their progress, however slow it is. It is not the latter sentence that concerns him. One of the first people at Taman Emas to meet them was the very person that provided Anakin with a transport. Noh Tersem. But Obi-Wan can’t grasp the unifying Force the flows around every individual at the hotel. It slips past the old man, as if he repels the Force itself. Anakin’s voice interrupts his thoughts.

     “It was a blade.”

     “I’m sorry?” He leans forward, as if his ears aren’t hearing quite right.

     “They slit her neck like some kind of savage,” Anakin rubs his eyes. “I would have thought an assassin would leave a clean shot through the skull, with a blaster rifle or pistol. None of it makes any sense.”

     “Maybe my information will help us get to the bottom of this,” Obi-Wan pats Anakin’s leg, a gesture to bring Anakin’s gaze to meet his own. Behind the frustration and burden of death in Anakin’s eyes, there is a hint of concern. “The mineral they’ve been using to supplement their seeds, the keftite, is being consumed in large quantities. I searched for nearby planets that have active mines of the ore, only to find that all of them are listed as inactive. Run dry.”

     Anakin’s brow remains furrowed. Obi-Wan reaches for the datapad beside him, calling up a small holoprojection of the Outer Rim. “There were four mining operations in Bar Neth’s sector. All of them closed up in the past year, so I broadened my search to the entire Outer Rim. I found seven different attacks all in close succession, including one where our friendly smugglers were sighted leaving the planet with local law enforcement in pursuit.”

     “Tmela hires smugglers to steal keftite because they’ve run out,” Anakin concludes, visibly bristling. “And here we thought it was a simple case of spice traffickers.”

     Obi-Wan continues. “Keftite isn’t just a supplement for the plants. It has a more important purpose, that I am sure of. Tmela would not draw unnecessary beings into her business proceedings if she had any other option.”

     Anakin flops back onto the bed with a huff. “This just keeps getting worse and worse. If the smugglers are connected to Tmela, she might already know of our botched attempt at infiltrating their base out in the desert.” His blue eyes regard Obi-Wan, an invitation to lay back as well. Obi-Wan doesn’t accept. Instead, he stands up and walks toward the balcony.      The sky is turning orange and the gala in a mere hour away, but they are no closer to thwarting Tmela Avos. Obi-Wan’s head aches at the thought. They don’t even know why they have to prevent the mutant plants from getting to Lothal and Akiva. It was a feeling in his stomach, a swirling mess of evidence that wouldn’t add up. Why would an innocent woman trying to feed planets full of people use an assassin to murder a Republic agent?

     “We cannot let ourselves be discovered, Anakin.”

     “I am well aware of that, Master.”

     “Did you create a holo of the evidence while you were there?” Obi-Wan crosses his arms over his chest. If they could gather enough proof that Tmela had been involved in Galira’s murder, that would be substantial reason to warrant her arrest.

     “I recovered what I could from the bedroom where I found her, although there wasn’t much besides blood.” Anakin produces a chip from his pocket and wiggles it in between his fingers. “I brought references of the apartment floor plans and security cam footage from her droid before wiping him clean.”

     Obi-Wan nods at him as he continues to stare out into the canopy of the hotel gardens. His teeth worry at his bottom lip. “Are you sure you disabled the security cameras and microphones completely?” He turns to look back at Anakin and is met with a glare to which he is accustomed.  
     Anakin doesn’t answer. Obi-Wan watches as he turns his gaze back to the ceiling, lets out another deep breath into the quiet room. The air fills with the sound of chirping insects from the gardens and anxiety about every move they had made and will make. Both are white noise that threatens to overwhelm Obi-Wan’s last threads of calm.  
     So Obi-Wan does what his mind tells him not to; he returns to Anakin. The depression of the mattress when he sits earns him a flicker of a glance. He unrolls the sleeves of his shirt and unbuttons the front, casting it aside with a wince. Obi-Wan refrains from sending a particular message into the bond between them, but the image of torn skin, still pink in its attempt to close the wounds, is enough to rouse Anakin from his thoughts.  
     The salve comes flying from the ‘fresher into their bedroom so quickly that it almost sends the ornate bedside lamp toppling onto the floor. Anakin curses, using one hand to steady the lamp and the other to catch the small metal container before it can smack him in the forehead. Obi-Wan means to grumble but it turns into a deep chuckle that has Anakin smiling, however slight.  Anakin settles behind him, a gloved hand on his left shoulder and gentle fingers spreading the bacta-based salve on the angry blaster burns on his back. It is reminiscent of their morning in Galira’s spacious ‘fresher, scrubbing the Nethian sand from their skin. Obi-Wan’s skin prickles at the soft contact Anakin makes as he searches Obi-Wan’s back for the smaller areas in need of care. The hand on his shoulder begins to work at his muscles, willing his spine to curve forward. The salve is cooling his skin, letting him forget the perpetual heat of burnt skin for a brief moment.  
     The heat travels elsewhere, primarily his cheeks. He doesn’t like being doted over, receiving such care without being able to return the favor. Anakin’s hands pause their work.

     “It’s not like you can put it on yourself, Obi-Wan. Relax,” Anakin reprimands him, calling a roll of bandaging to his side. “There’s no shame in enjoying when someone cares for you.”

     He remains silent, trying to focus on the twinges of pain from the tender skin as Anakin presses the bandage over the wound on his shoulder. He doesn’t want to acknowledge the river of comfort that his former Padawan presses through their bond. Anakin’s hands are so gentle; a stark contrast to the way he fights with reckless abandon. He excuses the sensation of his chest seizing up on his pride for Anakin, but the way his heart stutters makes laughing stock of him.  Obi-Wan feels loved-if only for a brief moment-in a way that he didn’t know he longed for.  
     So he sighs, a quiet acquiescence to Anakin’s touch, and lets his embarrassment fall away. “I’m sorry I questioned you about the cameras. I’m just worried that we’re not hiding ourselves well enough.”

     “Master, hush. You don’t need to-”

     “About the nightmares too. I should have told you sooner.”

     Anakin is quiet for a moment, surprised at Obi-Wan’s confessions. “Please just relax for a minute, will you?” The hand on his shoulder moves to run through his hair, fingers dragging softly against his scalp. The feeling is sudden, a rush of pleasure and relief that pulls a small gasp from his lips before he can quell it. There have been very few people close enough to Obi-Wan to touch him like this. It has been years. Anakin’s fingers tug gently at the strands of his hair; they ruffle his bangs free from their coiffed style and send smaller pieces sticking straight up. Obi-Wan feels his eyes closing. Anakin’s other hand pulls him down to rest in his lap. He doesn’t resist and the spark of disbelief from Anakin is echoed through the bond and the soft laugh from above him.

     “Master, after this mission is over, you know my offer still stands, right?”

     The question makes his heart beat out of time. “I’m not sure I understand what you mean.” He doesn’t open his eyes, not to inquire and not to ask for the hands to return to their caresses.

     “I said I would be here to listen, to-” Anakin’s voice is unsure, “-take your mind off of things.”

     Obi-Wan’s eyes fly open, greeted by a pair of blue eyes that match his own. They shine with affection and devotion, feelings Anakin should not be having for him.  
     He allows himself a selfish moment to wish for another meaningless encounter behind a fogged pane of transparisteel, nothing to hide and yet nothing to account for. But this mission-this act-isn’t going to last. “Anakin, I’m afraid I’ve let my desires get the better of me.”

     Anakin visibly swallows, looking more concerned than he has any right to be when Obi-Wan knows he’s the one going off the deep-end.

     He sits up from Anakin’s lap abruptly, Anakin’s hands jerking back as if he’s been burned. “This mission, this whole ‘lovers’ act- at first seemed like a facade. It was all pretend. At least that’s what I told myself.” Obi-Wan’s face flushes with the heat of blaster fire he thought he’d escaped. “I am walking a very thin line, Anakin.”

     “What are you saying?” Anakin’s voice is barely a whisper, as if he will shatter the very moment.

     “We shouldn’t do this. I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

     “Obi-Wan-” Anakin blurts. “No, no. You don’t get it.” He slides up from his place behind Obi-Wan to sit beside him on the edge of the bed. The same position as when they had begun their discussion, yet so different.“You’re not taking advantage of me.”

     Obi-Wan can only stare. He had been so certain that Anakin was appeasing him, having a good time teasing his old Master. He was most certainly involved with the Senator from Naboo, Miss Amidala. Has he missed something?

     Anakin’s voice is soft when he says his next words. “Do you really think I’m beautiful?”

     Obi-Wan’s soul reeks of attachment. It’s mortifying. It’s shameful. He hasn’t felt this vulnerable since he pushed Satine away all those years ago, despite what his heart wanted. He hadn’t planned on feeling this way again. So he chooses silence. Anakin’s hands are shaking. Obi-Wan starts to put his shirt back on, as if he plans to end the conversation.

     Anakin doesn’t let him escape. His hand grips Obi-Wan’s wrist, keeping him seated with his legs hanging off the side of the bed. “When are you going to come clean?”

     Obi-Wan can feel his voice raising in pitch and winces, his shields pulling around himself. He turns away from the younger man. “Come clean about what?”

     Anakin is suddenly so close, his thighs on either side of Obi-Wan’s lap. He’s sitting on top of him. _The nerve of him, this is much too close._ Obi-Wan can feel his hot breath on his lips. Anakin’s hand finds the open collar of his shirt, tugging him close enough for them to brush noses. His breath hitches. Anakin is pressing against his shields with an energy that only feeds the wall he builds between them. The room is too hot. He can’t think. He doesn’t want to.  
     “This,” Anakin whispers. “What is this?” The longing is bleeding through their bond and Anakin’s lips meet Obi-Wan’s just as they begin to part. It feels like being sucked out into the void of space. He can’t breathe. There are only Anakin’s lips, moving against his with incessant fervor that begs him to respond. It’s his last stand. He’s surrounded, backed into a corner with no sign of reinforcements.  
     So he surrenders to the heat in his stomach, pressing into Anakin and sucking on his bottom lip. It’s a hungry kiss, tongues lashing and Anakin swallowing back moans. Obi-Wan has never known someone that can move him to such carnal emotions like Anakin can. Something about the way Anakin steals the breath from his lungs, filling him a fire too bright to survive, leaves Obi-Wan aching. Anakin pulls away softly, his hands still gripping his collar as if his life depends on it.

     “Obi-Wan, what is this?” The nervousness in his voice is long gone, replaced by the rasp of desperation.

     Obi-Wan refuses to answer, but the blush on his cheeks speaks for him.

     Anakin sits back slowly, running a hand through his curls. Anakin is looking at him like he’s unveiling the next edition Delta starfighter. Or maybe like he _is_ the starfighter. Obi-Wan feels a blush creeping up his neck again and can’t fight the urge to break Anakin’s intense gaze.

     Fingers still play at the buttons on his shirt. Obi-Wan doesn’t have the heart to stop him after having him so near. He’s selfish. He wants Anakin close again.

     “It’s been this way for awhile now, hasn’t it?” Anakin’s voice is soft, a break that Obi-Wan can’t place as pain or hope. The suns are glowing lower in the sky, the canopies quiet with the coming evening, and Obi-Wan Kenobi has Anakin Skywalker perched over top of him. _Don’t you have the slightest concern for consequences?_

     Anakin shakes his head and starts buttoning Obi-Wan’s shirt. “Of course, I do. I just decided they were,” he pauses to smile as Obi-Wan finally turns his head back to look at him. “Insignificant.”

     “You heard that?” Obi-Wan’s eyebrows raise in surprise.

     “You’re still projecting,” Anakin laughs, hopping off Obi-Wan to rummage through their luggage. Obi-Wan misses the warmth but succeeds at keeping the thought to himself this time. He can’t help but watch the man’s sturdy frame as it bends to grab a pair of black pants from the top of his bag.

     “What are we going to do? This has become _quite_ a mess.” Obi-Wan drags a hand down his face as if it will wipe away his failure to remain emotionless. It won’t, but he tries.

     “Do you mean our relationship or the gala with Tmela?” Anakin should not be this pleased with himself, in Obi-Wan’s opinion. He sends a pillow at him to make it clear.

     But kriff, he forgot about the gala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting dangerous for the team here. Both physically and emotionally. At least Anakin is getting some investigative work done. I hope to let Obi-Wan do some more sweet-talking in the next chapter ;) we’re going to get to the bottom of this shady genetic manipulation business! 
> 
> How do you guys feel about murder? Now that Obi-Wan and Anakin lost their contact in Upper Seles, they’re very much on their own in this city. And someone doesn’t like Jedi very much... 
> 
> And lastly, Obi-Wan melting because Anakin is gentle is my favorite part. It’s only been 3 1/2 days since Obi-Wan got wrecked by their escape from the smugglers. I just think about what it feels like to have burn wounds, then what it would be like to get hit with a blaster. Man, I’d be needing some pain meds ASAP. Thank god for Anakin taking care of his master. 
> 
> As always, let me know what you think? I appreciate comments and suggestions :D 
> 
> Thank you to theunethicalscientist for their continuing support of this story and helpful corrections. <3 idk what I’d do without you!
> 
> And also thank you to everyone that stops by to read this for the first time, or continuing readers from the very beginning. I love you guys! Your comments and kudos mean everything to me, especially when I’m struggling with real life stuff. You keep the dream alive.


	10. Several Legume Varieties Suitable For Your Climate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys are finally going to the gala! Tmela tries to strike up a deal with representatives from Lothal and Akiva, planets struggling to beat plagues on their major crops. Without concrete knowledge of Tmela's true plans, Obi-Wan and Anakin plan to put a stop to her business. 
> 
> But do they really know what they're getting themselves into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're getting to one of my favorite parts of the story! The undercover mission seems to be wrapping up, but there are still things to learn about Tmela Avos. Things are going to get worse before they get better, especially since their only connection to the outside, Galira, was murdered. THE PLOT THICKENS.
> 
> I hope that I can portray the complexity of the situation without being confusing. There are answers that I can't give away just yet, but I hope that you guys can pick up on some of the little hints I throw into each chapter.
> 
> I contracted the writing bug last week and spewed these words out onto the pages while I could. Life is busy but I always come back to these two Jedi in love. Hope you enjoy this chapter and I'll see you again at the end <3

     Anakin can’t keep a smile from sneaking onto his face as they follow Noh Tersem to the grand ballroom. His arm fits nicely into the crook of Obi-Wan’s, as if it has always meant to be there. After their “moment of weakness,” as Obi-Wan would call it, they had fallen into a silence. It doesn’t resemble the pressure that had weighted them earlier in the afternoon; instead a comforting quiet they often use in the middle of a battlefield. The only sounds are the sharp clicking of their polished shoes and the hum of a party just beginning, Anakin can hear more clearly with each corner they turn.

     Tersem nods to two doormen that make way for the three men as they pass through the entryway of the ballroom. Darkened wood doors and carved paneling give way to a wide space that spreads above and below their current vantage point. The ceilings are vaulted more than thirty feet, supported by walls to his left and right that are covered in stairways and balconies. Anakin can only imagine each outcropping belongs to the private suite of a dignitary invited to the gala. Stairs of red carpet on either side of them beckon the pair down to the milling guests of Tmela Avos, glittering flutes of champagne already in the hands of many of them. Noh Tersem bids them farewell and returns through the broad doorway, leaving Anakin and Obi-Wan to admire the view.

     The free spaces on the cream walls are decorated with embroidered banners detailing the harvest moon celebration, alternating with delicate painting of the landscapes Bar Neth had once provided to travelers seeking adventure. Each piece of art, each etched post supporting the banister aches of the work a native Bar Nethian had poured into the construction of Upper Seles’ impressive estate. It leaves a sour taste on Anakin’s tongue and he finds himself wishing for a glass of the sparkling champagne that travels atop servers’ platters throughout the smattering of people.

 

     “Tmela will be expecting us, I assume.” Obi-Wan is talking primarily to himself, but Anakin listening regardless. “Do you see her down there?” 

 

     He peers over the side of the railing, searching the crowds for signs of her deep blue skin. Anakin lets the fruitless effort continue, instead searching the Force for Tmela’s flickering presence in the room. He finds her standing a few levels above them, leaning on the railing with a drink in one hand, letting it dangle precariously over the crowd below her. Her eyes are lidded, her lips a ghost of a smile. Anakin nudges Obi-Wan, tilting his chin in her direction. 

 

     “Ah, good work-“ Obi-Wan almost stumbles over the name. “Devon.”

 

     Anakin gives him an eyebrow raise, but Obi-Wan blinks quickly and turns away, pulling Anakin with him as they head for the staircase on their right. He can almost hear the gears turning in his master’s head. It isn’t wise to let him be too distracted during their negotiations with Tmela. The real Sib and Devon would be fully attuned to the business at hand. Anakin just hopes this Twi’lek woman won’t be throwing anymore surprises their way. The situation is already getting too messy for Anakin’s rush-in-guns-blazing approach to solve if need be.

 

     When they have climbed four flights of stairs, Tmela is still where they had first seen her, although she is aware of their presence. Her eyes light up with recognition and she becomes a whirling pool of gold satin as she makes her way toward them. She never seems to be caught in the same attire twice, and Anakin has only seen this kind of fabric used by the Hutt that used to own him and his mother on Tatooine. The memory adds to the unpleasant feeling he’s had since he entered the ballroom, but in an attempt to play the part of Devon Aristides, he closes himself off from the Force and leans into Obi-Wan. He doesn’t fail to let his eyes linger on Tmela for a moment more than necessary.

 

     She doesn’t miss the gesture. “Welcome, Sib. Devon. I hope I’m not asking too much of you to join me for our meeting before you two partake in the festivities,” she asks with no intention to let them chose. 

 

     “Of course not.” Obi-Wan smiles and holds a hand toward the open double doors behind her. “We are ready when you are.”

 

     “Excellent,” she practically purrs. Obi-Wan and Anakin exchange a glance, sharing their mutual apprehension for mere seconds, before following Tmela into the warmly lit boardroom.

 

**_This will not be easy._** Obi-Wan’s thought presses against his own mind. He lets out a soft snort in response.

 

**_Getting stagefright, Master?_ **

 

**_I am unsure of how long we will be able to delay Tmela’s plans._ **

 

**_Any delay is enough._ **

 

**_What if they mean well and we prevent innocent lives from the aid they deserve?_ **

 

     To that, Anakin has no answer. He has only his gut feelings to base his decisions on, and they are screaming for him to disrupt this entire party.  _ Galira is dead.  _ He will not forget that. Obi-Wan lets go of his arm and heads to the seat to Tmela’s right, stopping to pull her chair out for her. She takes a seat at the head of the long table the spans the length of the room. A dark-skinned man with a neatly groomed beard and mustache is sitting across from Obi-Wan’s intended seat. He wears patterned clothes in shades of red and orange, as well as an ornate headdress.  _ The prince of Akiva.  _

 

     The man notices Anakin’s attention and makes eye contact with him, his brown eyes warm and the lines on his skin speak of the years of wisdom he must have from serving his planet. Anakin doesn’t know much about the man personally, though the record he was able to procure from Galira’s database spoke at length of his diplomatic missions to small settlements on Bar Neth during the early years of their terraformation. This man does not break eye contact, instead extending an arm to offer an invitation to Anakin.

 

     “Please, join us.” His smile is of practiced form, Anakin would know. He often uses the same face in front of the Council. But he doesn’t let the moment pass, deciding to join the prince at the table. He can feel Obi-Wan’s presence in his mind, hovering there but not quite intruding. Again, that smile starts to creep up on him.

 

     Anakin shakes away the fondness that blooms in his chest. Another time. Another planet for those thoughts.

     “I don’t believe we’ve met.” The prince offers a polite smile.

 

     “Devon Aristides. It is a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.”

 

     The man’s eyes squint as he lets out a rumbling laugh. “No need for titles of that sort, Devon. You may call me Pravit. I understand you are to be a part of the negotiations to secure aid for my planet?”

 

     Anakin’s eyes flicker over to Obi-Wan, who is beginning to engage Tmela in perfunctory details of the evening’s meeting. “I wouldn’t say that I’m the negotiator,” he lets his focus return to Pravit. “But I was invited by Tmela nonetheless. Just an engineer friend of Dr. Mihail’s in this crowd.” His attempts to shrug off his own identity are not wasted on the prince. He is already nursing a glass of amber liquid that gives off a scent strong enough to knock Padawan Anakin to the floor. It concerns him. The Force tells him to press ahead, disregarding the manners he should be following. 

 

     “That’s a strong drink for this early in the evening,” he lets his voice lilt on the words.  _ Devon Aristides would want to know the secrets of each person in this room. Devon wouldn’t dodge an opportunity to make connections. _

 

     “Despite the revelry and carelessness you saw when you arrived, not all of us are comfortable with the present state of affairs.” Pravit breaks eye contact for the first time, his fingers spinning the short crystal glass in front of him. 

 

     His aura becomes clouded, as if he’d taken a long drag from a pipe and blown it in Anakin’s face. It causes him to blink a few times, his gaze also falling to the glass. The prince’s fingers are not what he expects from royalty; the knuckles protrude and the skin is marked with lightened lines of scarred flesh. Although his fingernails are clean, Anakin suspects they had soil beneath them every day for years during Pravit’s younger years. This man was a farmer, just like many of his subjects.

 

     “You’re from Wela.” Anakin breathes the realization out to hide the tension that sets into his core.

     “The southern edge of it, exactly. The forests were never kind to those of us trying to make the sandy soil into something it did not want to be.”

 

     “I know the feeling.” And he does. The sands of Tatooine made it clear that no sentient species would ever be safe.  _ No matter where you lived, the sands would find you and drain you dry.  _ He cannot tell the man that he understands, not really.

 

     “It was the only thing we had- the only thing they had when the blight hit. I blamed myself for not being proactive. I should have seen it coming. A nation cannot run on a single resource, it’s simply not sustainable.” Pravit takes a long sip of his drink and lets out a sigh. “But that is why we are here, is it not?” He looks around to the others seated at the table, quietly conversing with each other. 

 

     The governor of Lothal, Cal’shy Numiir, a pale violet-skinned being with fine white hair sits quietly across from Obi-Wan. Tmela leans with both elbows on the table, knuckles pressing into her lips as she props her head up in thought.

 

     “My darling, Tmela. Should we begin the formal discussions?” Pravit’s voice is strong, but the quivering fingers at his side are known only to Anakin, and he can feel the wavering fear in the prince.  _ He isn’t sure he’ll get the food for his planet. People could die if they stall this business deal.  _ Anakin isn’t sure he signed up for this kind of mission. Impersonating someone to get close to criminals is one thing; making legitimate promises to entire governments while undercover is not something he is comfortable with. He can’t discuss it with Obi-Wan without missing the conversation happening in front of him, so he holds himself back.

 

     “My people have been working non-stop since the blight hit to decontaminate the affected fields. I’ve commissioned millions of rations-filled aid deliveries to the northern regions of my planet, but it is not enough. The ration bars are only a temporary solution. Our fields are nothing but wastelands now.” Pravit’s hands are gripping the edge of the table, as if they are the only things keeping him from standing. “The forests are nothing but ash. They had to be eliminated, it was the only way to contain the disease. But my people are hungry, without their livelihoods, and relying on me to bring them the help they deserve.”

 

     He cannot resist any longer. The Prince of Akiva stands up, clutching a fist to his chest. “Lady Avos, it is you alone that I trust with the survival of my people. Akiva was denied entry to the Republic,” he pauses to let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Swept up in the Confederacy of Independent Systems in order to scrape by.” His voice wavers and he stares at Tmela with the same brown eyes Anakin was first struck by, but now they are filled with desperation and conviction. “You know as well as I that being governed does not entail respect nor aid. But we need supplies nonetheless. I was told you had products to offer.”

 

     Tmela grins, her brow relaxing as he finishes his plea. Anakin finds the expression heartless for all of the compassion she had cultivated in Obi-Wan and Anakin over dinner the night before. Considering her childhood circumstances, her pleasure at the position of power over Pravit and his planet seems wrong to Anakin.  _ I guess it wouldn’t be a business if she gave out all her products for free.  _ The thought fails to settle him.

 

     “I have Akivan seedlings, ready to be planted. Able to fruit within a year.” The prince’s shoulders collapse slightly, his grip on the table weakening. “They are resistant to the blight, should it be able to survive the incineration you brought to Wela.” Prince Pravit winces at the admonishment, but Tmela continues. “Since you so carelessly disrupted the composition of your soil by burning everything to the ground, I’ve also modified the trees to metabolize the high levels of toxin remaining in the topsoil.”

 

     Pravit blinks, catching the eye of the governor beside him. Anakin realizes that Tmela had been holding out on two representatives, stringing them along with vague promises in order to get them to the table, but she was well prepared. Anakin felt the hair on the back of his neck standing up. More and more, the strength of Tmela’s business acumen is seeping out from beneath the layers of gossamer fabric she chooses to drape herself in. Lady Avos is not just a pretty face. No wonder Obi-Wan had seemed so off-put by his conversation with her earlier in the morning.

 

     He looks to his old master then, hoping to see the same shade of concern being reflected in his gaze, but Obi-Wan is refusing to look in his direction. His arms are resting gently on the armrests of his elegant wooden chair, but his fingers are gripping too tightly. A soft smile, which Anakin recognizes as fake, is directed at Tmela despite the discomfort radiating in the Force. He resists the urge to prod. He takes a small sip of his champagne and returns to the conversation happening between Tmela, Governor Cal’shy, and Prince Pravit.

 

     “Of course, we will spare no expense to introduce the trees back to Wela, as well as in the southern regions of our planet. What might you suggest we use as an annual crop to supplement our main export?” Pravit questioned Tmela, thoroughly engrossed in her advice.

 

     “We have several legume varieties suitable to your climate, able to be rotated every three years with a cereal crop we developed last spring, if you’re willing to be a part of the field tests. I can’t guarantee maximum efficiency, but you understand.” She remains calm, but Anakin can almost see the way she shimmers in the Force. The air is thick with “victory,” a feeling so pervasive that he almost loses himself in the swells of it. 

 

     A gentle chuckle and she leans back in her chair. “I am more than willing to supply these products to you, my dear Pravit. I have never been one to hold my inventions close to my chest.” At this, she looks to Obi-Wan, who has remained quiet up until this point. “But ultimately, I am not the one pulling the trigger.”

 

     The prince is confused, as is Anakin. He knows that Sib Mihail is involved, but the conversations they had over dinner the night they arrived at the golden hotel seem like blurs in comparison to the vivid images of Zygerrian blood spilt on white synthcarpet. The prince sates Anakin’s curiosity and asks the question that lingers on his tongue. “Dr. Mihail, is this true?”

 

     Obi-Wan sighs, returning Tmela’s gaze with a smirk that speaks of conversations to be had behind closed doors. 

 

     “I’m afraid Tmela has gotten ahead of herself, ever the excited scientist.” He places a hand on her gold-adorned arm. “I can’t fault her for it. She can’t resist the chance to help those in need, that much I have seen since I joined her here at the estate. Your majesty, in order to provide you with the most efficient crops possible, Tmela has incorporated some of the patented genes I used to create the very fields you saw while arriving to the spaceport in Upper Seles.”

 

     The truth strikes the prince like a hand across his face. He has the audacity to look offended at Obi-Wan, as if Tmela hadn’t put him in this predicament in the first place. Anakin has to resist the urge to defend him.  _ But Tmela made the promises, Dr. Mihail is the bad guy, and I’m just here to look pretty.  _ He chooses to place his glass on the table, breaking the tense moment between the three of them. 

 

     “And I assume that Sib will be reaping the profits of this endeavor as is due?” Anakin nods at her, watching as her mood sways.

 

     “Frankly absurd,” she scoffs. “These are just as much my creation as his.”

 

     “With no licensing to speak of, they are not more than pirated organisms you’re selling under the noses of Republic officials. They might be your creations but you lack legality to explain their sale or existence.” Obi-Wan shakes his head, dismissing her with the wave of his hand. “I will have no part of it without negotiating a permanent agreement between the lady and with you, your majesty.”

 

     Anakin can see the sweat beading on Pravit’s temples and can’t decide whether it is from the impatience to resolve his planet’s conflicts, or the anxiety of Dr. Mihail suggesting that he won’t allow the business deal to proceed at all. Tmela doesn’t seem very comfortable either.

 

     “I am prepared for whatever offer you may suggest, Doctor Mihail. You would not be so cruel to let a simple misunderstanding be the cost of lost lives on Akiva?” Pravit’s voice remains steady, despite his concern.

 

     Unlike Obi-Wan, Dr. Sib Mihail is not swayed by compassion for fellow sentients.  _ Obi-Wan is playing his part well _ . “I want at least 80% of the profits.”

 

_      Has Tmela’s skin always been this dark?  _ The Twi’lek was flushing, her lekku straining to keep from flicking about in irritation.

 

     “For the Akiva deal? That’s a steep price, Sib. You know it.” Her aggressive tone dares him to continue, but Obi-Wan isn’t one to back down from a challenge, especially by a woman such as Tmela. Obi-Wan had fought with countless Separatist generals, even Count Dooku himself. 

 

     “For both. I want 80% of the profits from both the Akivan and Lothal deals.”

 

     The governor of Lothal looks shaken. They haven’t gotten to his portion of the deal yet, but the outcome isn’t the brightest from his point of view, based on the way he swallows down the rest of his drink. 

 

     “Absolutely not. I thought we agreed that it was a matter of life or death for these citizens, Sib,” Tmela hisses, but fails to keep soft enough to prevent Pravit from hearing.

 

     “This matter has become exceedingly personal. I suggest we take a break and enjoy the feast you so generously provided for us, Lady Avos.” The prince rises from his seat, the governor following suit.

 

     Obi-Wan and Tmela both look over to him, their eyes lit with the heat of their argument and mouths still moving with words the other will not hear. Their bodies are leaned over in their chairs, passing hushed insults to each other. The prince and governor quietly leave the room, guided by one of the attendants stationed by the exit. Anakin shakes his head and makes his way over to the two bickering scientists and practically has to drag Obi-Wan away.

 

     “Are you trying to undermine my entire operation, Sib? If you disagree with the way I conduct my business, I would have liked to hear it before I try to negotiate a deal with two representatives.” Tmela is visibly upset, her brow furrowed and a thin blue finger pointing into Obi-Wan’s chest. “If you don’t want this to be in a partnership with me, you shouldn’t have agreed to this meeting in the first place. It might set back my operations a few months, but I will gladly create my own mutant plants without your useless patent genes. Stop wasting my time”

 

     “You would lose your business with these two, surely.” Obi-Wan pats the hand Anakin has resting on his shoulder. “Just admit that you’ve made a mistake. Give me the money I deserve and I won’t report you to the Senate for engaging in Separatist dealings, profiting from illegal manufactured goods, not to mention the monetary worth you’re asking me to place on a sentient species that suffered from a debilitating disease.”

 

     Tmela laughs, but it comes out wrong. It’s too tense. “Blackmailing me? After I’ve given you the opportunity to makes millions of credits using technology I’ve improved? And we all know that businesses aren’t loyal to the Republic or the Separatists. There is only one governing body in the Outer Rim and that’s currency.” 

 

     She lets out a resigned sigh and stands from her chair. “Report me and nothing will happen. Bar Neth has gone for so long already, I doubt the Republic even realizes we’re a part of the corrupted mess it has become.”

 

     Tmela spits the words as if they are poison and walks toward the now open doors. The sounds of the gala begin to pour into the room and she doesn’t look back as she steps out to the balcony they had spotted her from earlier.

     “You did a good job stalling,” Anakin snorts, his mouth pressed close to Obi-Wan’s ear. His partner just passes his acknowledgement through their bond, his feelings floating on the warm updrafts of a part well-played. He lets their arms hook and the two step out onto the balcony with Tmela for the second time this evening.

 

     “I will do this with or without you, Sib.” She speaks out into the wide opening in the cylindrical space of the grand ballroom. “I had just hoped we could do this together.” 

 

     Her eyes are downcast, drawing both Anakin and Obi-Wan to look over the edge of the railing with her. Dancing pairs twist and turn across the deep red floor, a luxurious mixture of silks and velvet, a glittering melange of beaded skirts and sequined jewelry. It looks like everyone is having a good time. 

 

     A part of Anakin wants to join in, his ears catching the beginning of a tune that sounds somewhat like the ones Padme’s mother played on Naboo during their last family dinner. It seems like so long ago, Anakin has to blink away the mist that settles over his mind.

 

     Obi-Wan gives Tmela a last word of apology; he had hoped they could work together too. He gently tugs Anakin away when Tmela grabs his free wrist.

 

     “May I have a word with Devon before you two go?” The honeyed request paired with the defeated look on her face is more than either of them can ignore. 

 

     “Of course, my lady. Just don’t keep him for too long.” Obi-Wan lets go of Anakin and starts down the long, slow spiral of the stairs to the ballroom ground floor.

 

     Tmela looks up at Anakin, her hand still gripping his wrist. “Mr. Aristides. I asked you to persuade him, not dissuade him,” she mocks, as if Anakin can’t snap the bones of her spine with the twitch of his finger.  _ She doesn’t know that _ ; he lets himself be patronized despite how much he hates it.

 

     “My apologies, Lady Avos. He seemed to be in agreement with me earlier,” he scratches his head in an attempt to look sheepish. “I guess I wasn’t as convincing as usual.”

 

     “I’m surprised. I thought you were more than a pretty face. You seemed to understand the importance of my work here on Bar Neth and in the Outer Rim when we talked over dinner last night.” She shakes her head and looks straight into his eyes.. “People will starve to death because of this.” The words sting and he feels himself wince in response.

 

     She looks behind her to snap her fingers and beckon a waiter over to the two of them. “A new glass of champagne for the young man, please.” She waits until he picks one from the shining silver platter before releasing her grip on his arm, instead letting her small hand caress its way up to the crook of his elbow. 

 

     “I hope the disappointing turn of events won’t spoil your last evening here, Devon,” she says as she guides him toward to staircase Obi-Wan had taken a moment ago.

 

     “I wish there was more I could do.”

 

     “I’m afraid you’ve already done enough,” she sighs, letting go of him as he starts to descend the stairs. “I have other arrangements to make with my staff, so I won’t be joining you just yet. Play nice with the governor and our starving prince, will you?” 

 

     She calls it over her shoulder as she turns to walk away. “If there’s one thing you’re successful at, it’s pretending you care.”

 

     Tmela leaves him standing on the second step down from the third floor of the grand ballroom, feeling strangely emptied by the words of someone that doesn’t even know his real name. _Maybe she had only meant well._ _Are we sure we’re fighting for the right side here?_

 

     The truth of the matter was that even Separatist worlds have to eat. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!
> 
> We got some of "The Negotiator" in action! And a lot of Anakin's pov. There's a reason for that, I promise.
> 
> How are you guys feeling about Tmela now? And my poor man Pravit! These choices are not easy, but I'm trying to create situations where Obi-Wan and Anakin have to make tough calls. It brings out the truth of being a Jedi. Not everything is black or white, good or evil. Reality is grey, and getting to the truth of someone's intentions is often limited. This chapter was plot-heavy, but it touches on some of the topics I find most interesting about the clone wars-era galaxy.
> 
> A big thank you to [selcier](https://selcier.tumblr.com/) and [theunethicalscientist](https://theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com/) for their help editing this part of the story! I don't know where I'd be without such lovely advice, but it wouldn't be here. 
> 
> If you want to scream about obikin or star wars in general, feel free to stop by my primary blog [lacontradictionvivante](http://lacontradictionvivante.tumblr.com/) or my star wars novel-centric side blog [kenobiapologist](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com/).


	11. The Anonymity of It All

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After successful disruption of the Tmela's plans to put two more planets in her debt, Obi-Wan and Anakin make their way down to the party. Things start off rather easy, but quickly take an interesting turn when Anakin starts to put the pieces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am surviving. That is all I can say. The wedding is about a month away, a thesis is waiting to be written, but here I am, posting another chapter of my ridiculous undercover obikin fic. The gala is finally here, and I'm sure you'll reach the end of this chapter wanting more of them dancing sweetly, but the point of this story is MYSTERY and INTRIGUE damn it can't have them being too cute in the middle of a crisis, can I? 
> 
> Maybe I'll make them do some more dancing later on, because I can't get enough of these two.
> 
> Well go ahead, get on with the reading. I'll be here when you're done.

     Obi-Wan spots Anakin from across the room, making his way down the stairs slowly as he takes in the spinning masses of people. He’d stationed himself next to a two-tiered setting of tiny cakes with a glass of the sparkling champagne that seemed to be served by waiters at every turn. After such a heated debate with Tmela, he feels in need of some relaxation. It doesn’t take him long to finish the glass in his hand and wade through the throngs of people toward his partner.

     “Devon,” he smiles at Anakin, not fake this time. “Tmela returned you with all limbs intact. I’m surprised.”

 

     “It wasn’t for lack of trying,” Anakin laughs, eyeing the desserts behind Obi-Wan. “Despite the appealing man in front of me, those cakes are looking mighty fine.”

 

     “I won’t hold it against you if you grab one for me,” he chuckles, letting Anakin pass him by, not without letting his hand brush over the man’s shoulder as he passes. The urge to maintain contact whenever possible had started to unearth itself from the deepest parts of himself.

 

     Anakin returns with a plate full of cakes and his own glass of sparkling wine. Obi-Wan chooses a small green one with pink flowers garnishing the top, popping the whole thing into his mouth at once. He sends another smile Anakin’s way, particularly pleased with himself after the amount of setbacks they’d had with this mission. They’d successfully stalled Tmela’s negotiations for the evening, and possibly the next three months while she re-designed her mutant plants. Despite not knowing the extent of her illegal dealings, they had gathered enough evidence of her involvement with the Separatists to suggest her removal from her position of power within the Bar Nethian government. _Someone more acquainted with Republic legislation would be a preferable replacement_ , Obi-Wan muses.

 

     His thoughts flicker to the fates of the innocent citizens of Wela on Akiva, to the many of Lothal that relied on their partnership with the sentient sencha grass. They were under the ever-widening umbrella of Separatist influence. Most likely, the Senate would not authorize humanitarian aid to those planets. The Council’s hands would be tied. The decision to undermine Tmela was both a victory and a defeat. Never an easy choice, to choose the Republic over the duties he is called to as a Jedi. Anakin would not want the people of Akiva to suffer. He’d seen the way the man’s eyes had shimmered with compassion when the distressed prince apprised the group of his planet’s dire state.

 

     Anakin takes long drinks from his flute of wine and they stand in a companionable silence amongst the ruckus of dancers. The feeling is strange, in a room with such noise, while still feeling like there is no one but them. Obi-Wan and Anakin. Sib Mihail and Devon Aristides. They will have to cast off their disguises by early morning to report back to the Council, he knows. They have enough evidence of Tmela’s business transactions with the Hutt Cartel and the Separatists, as well as Anakin’s live samples sent to a contact on Naboo. It is time to get back to the war while someone else takes over the prosecution of Tmela Avos for collusion with Republic enemies. Bar Neth may lose its seat in the Senate as a result of Tmela’s actions; she had threads attached to many of the political officials running the planet’s government and therefore tainted them with corruption.

 

     Obi-Wan let out a deep sigh. _Maybe it would be best to enjoy the gala while it lasts._

 

     It is this thought that leads him to grab Anakin’s hand and pull him to the dance floor. A waiter swoops in to grab the empty champagne glasses from their hands as Obi-Wan leads them into the fray. Stringed instruments carved from the same expensive wood as the desks in their hotel room and the ornate chairs of the boardroom are being played by a group of humans, accompanied by a green-skinned being at a long round black instrument and two Mon Cal bolstering brass instruments from a traditional royal band. Tmela had clearly spared no expense, no doubt in celebration for a deal that hadn’t occurred.

 

     The two men find a place in the middle of the dance floor, stopping to look at each other.

 

     “You do know how to dance, right?” Obi-Wan looks up at Anakin with a sudden lapse into concern.

 

     Anakin simply sighs into a gentle laugh, grabbing Obi-Wan’s hand and lacing their fingers together. He finds his other hand coming to rest on Anakin’s hip, Anakin’s hand similarly placed to pull them close together. The proximity has Obi-Wan’s skin tingling like the bubbles in his drink. Anakin leads them in a gentle waltz and Obi-Wan can’t help but fall into a rhythm with him, letting the crowd of guests turn into smears of color, a backdrop to the stunning focus of his vision; Anakin Skywalker. He had traded his dark Jedi robes for a burgundy suit and let his curled hair fall down to frame his face, a sight he had sorely missed ever since they started their assignment on Bar Neth. Anakin’s eyes are more grey than blue in the gentle golden light, the color barely visible due to the way his pupils are dilated. Obi-Wan begins to think his eyes must be doing the same thing. His body is behaving quite strongly, out here in front of everyone.

 

     He thinks there may be something to the anonymity of it all, allowing himself to draw so close to Anakin that he can press his forehead into the man’s collarbone. They still step slowly in time with the music and Obi-Wan focuses on steadying his heart, letting out shallow breaths into Anakin’s lapel.

_______________________________________

 

_Galira sits at her vanity, bare feet on the plush carpet of her bedroom. The mirror reflects a fresh face, clean from the gentle sonic shower she’d taken. She held her eyes open diligently as delicate clawed fingers used a small brush to apply black powder to the corners of her eyes. It was one of her best features, her eyes. The liner gave her confidence, as did the delicate string of jewels that she wrapped around her neck. A gift from her late mother and a good-luck talisman she always wore during important speeches._

 

_A small speaker in the corner of her room plays soft music and she lets her body sway to the beat. It is just loud enough that she doesn’t notice the crackle of her entryway door being fried. Nor does she hear the blip of the security alarms sounding before the intruder shoots a blaster bolt into the control box on the wall in her common room below. Galira’s personal droid sends her an urgent comm as it receives a lethal electroshock to the central processor. Her comm is laying on her bed along with the outfit she planned for the evening. She won’t ever read the message. She won’t know it’s a warning._

 

_Galira closes her eyes and sprays a mist of flowery fragrance from an aerolizer, letting the particles settle over her evenly. Her door is wide open, she wears only a soft robe and jewels. Zygerrians are supposed to have quick reflexes, but even they don’t save her from the battered Trandoshan that grabs her by the necklace and chokes her back against the vanity chair._

_______________________________________

 

     Anakin blinks away the vision that clouds his mind. It’s as if the scene had been appearing right in front of him. Whatever it was, it was unwelcome. He was having the time of his life, to be quite honest. After finishing his dance with Obi-Wan, he had moved to stand on the side of the dance floor, nursing a glass of dark berry wine and enjoying the music. He doesn’t know how long he’d been trapped in the vision, but a familiar face appears before him and distracts from the strange images in his head.

     It’s the same Falleen woman that had tried to overcome him with her pheromones at the afternoon session the previous day. She doesn’t try to coerce him into anything as he approaches, fully convinced that he was property of Dr. Sib Mihail. It makes it easier to ask her about the things Obi-Wan had read about keftite.

 

     The name of the mineral barely leaves his lips before she catches on. 

 

     “So you’ve heard about the mines too?” She presses the rim of her glass to her lips as if to take a drink, but she pauses. “It’s actually one of the reasons I’m here. The planet I’ve been living on has some keftite veins running through the northern portion of one large continent. Some of Tmela’s lackeys showed up to try and shoulder their way into the mining headquarters with fancy blasters or something.”

 

     Anakin feels his eyebrows raising higher with each word she says. Lackeys. Fancy blasters. Something is off. “Did you come to tell her to kriff off?”

 

     She shakes her head. “Nah, the boss didn’t want to scare off a potential customer, but you can’t just barge into a facility, blasters-ablaze and acting like the whole mine is yours. We have thermal detonators too, just like anyone else in this galaxy. There’s a war going on for crying out loud.” The woman looks up to the empty balcony where Tmela had been standing an hour ago. “Just wanted to give her a piece of my mind, as well as spark some kind of trade deal with her. Seems like she’s starving for keftite. Weird, since it’s never been commercialized before. But maybe I can kick up the price since she’s so desperate.” The woman laughs, a deep sound from her chest that doesn’t fit with the delicate facade she had created for the event. Anakin begins to laugh as well, enjoying the irony of her.

 

     Anakin leans closer to her, his voice barely audible amid the crescendos of music from the band near them. “The lackeys, they looked like smugglers, right? Using DL-51 blasters?” He pulls away slightly to look into her green eyes, her pupils barely-visible slits in reaction to his question.

 

     “Yeah, how’d you know?”

 

     “Just a hunch,” he smirks, but this knowledge starts to dig a well in his stomach, fills it with fear too murky to bring to the front of his mind. Obi-Wan is turning circles with the governor of Lothal, laughing as they dance to a tune the governor must know by heart. He’s pulling Obi-Wan along with him, their faces both flushed with drink and amusement. Anakin has never known his master to be clumsy after a couple drinks, but the way he stumbles over his feet briefly is new. _Jedi don’t stumble_. Anakin squints at the pair and the Falleen notices his distraction.

 

     “Hey, Aristides. Don’t let Tmela know I told you about that stuff.” Her hand twitches around her drink slightly, but Anakin feels like it’s the only thing he can focus on. “I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to stop myself from talking to you.”

 

     And Anakin agrees. With each sip of his drink, he yearns to spill what he knows about the laboratories, Tmela’s business operations, the murder of their undercover agent. It’s only by the will of the Force that he doesn’t beg her to stay, nor shout it out to the entire crowd of guests.

 

     “See you around,” she calls, walking toward the bar. He watches her go, becoming part of the blurring mix of people talking, eating, cavorting. _Were the lights always this bright?_ He blinks rapidly, as if something is in his eyes. The thought leaves his mind quickly, and his feet lead him to Obi-Wan and the governor.

_______________________________________

_The first thing Galira does is grab at her neck. That’s what they always do. You choke them and they always grab at their necks like it will do anything. The Trandoshan is visibly stronger than she is. Her windpipe will be crushed. The air is drawn out of her lungs in surprise. Her hand finds the aerolizer of perfume in a frantic pass over the vanity to grab anything. She sprays it in his eyes and he lets out a primal screech of pain. His hands do not let go of the necklace, but they loosen._

 

_She twists but can’t escape from the gold chain and her lungs are starting to burn for want of oxygen. Galira takes one look down to her right. His hand. Pockmarked with wounds from other fights, his scaly skin is unappealing but the only chance she has. So she bites down on it, hearing and feeling the way her sharp teeth pierce his scales and flesh. Bones crunch. Her neck is suddenly free._

 

_Galira scrambles to get out of the chair. The assassin is growling like a feral animal and grasping for her robe, ripping it open with his claws. She feels her skin tear and tears start to well up in her eyes. There will be no escape for her. Her eyes fly to the comm on her bed, a meter from her reach. Any other day she could have reached it easily, leaned back in her vanity chair to reach it without getting up. But now, she wished she’d adhered it to her wrist. The Trandoshan pierces her shoulder with black claws. She flails around to drag her own down the side of his face and finds all of the breath gone from her burning chest._

 

_It feels warm, the death he brings her. She didn’t even realize he’d drawn a knife. It tears her throat open; the same motion she’d taken many times to open a letter. Will she get the message? The Trandoshan assassin steps away from her body as it uselessly pumps blood out onto the front of her, down onto the white carpet. She thinks he’s hissing, but it could be the last fizzling of the nerves in her ears. And in only another moment, she’s gone._

_______________________________________

 

     Anakin finds himself barely concerned when he comes back to himself. The vision had continued, but he had no memory of getting to spot he was in now. Across from Obi-Wan on the dance floor, the Lothalian governor long gone. Obi-Wan is gazing at him with a soft smile plastered on his face, which sets Anakin’s heart ablaze with the same warmth in his stomach from the wine.

     He shakes off the detached feeling of the vision and grabs Obi-Wan’s hand, drawing into a dance.

     “So what did the governor of Lothal have to say?” Anakin teases him, although their feet are busy trying to keep pace with the swing dance one of the Hosnian guests had requested.

 

     He misses the cue to send Obi-Wan into a spin, leaving them a motionless center in a swirl of dizzying pairs. _I shouldn’t have judged Obi-Wan for stumbling earlier,_ Anakin flinches inwardly. There’s a delay between his intentions and the response of his body. Obi-Wan doesn’t seem to mind and the thought leaves Anakin’s mind before he can fully grasp it.

 

     “The governor is still worried about the sencha grass, but I told him everything would be okay. We can work something out with him after this is all over, right?”

 

     Obi-Wan’s eyes are glassy, but it doesn’t strike Anakin as abnormal like it should. His mind accepts it as fact. The people around him are just as carefree, just as loose. There are limbs flying about, the steps are sloppy. People are attempting to spin with drinks in both hands and splashes of golden wine spill onto the polished wood dance floor, droplets reaching the edge of the red carpet surrounding it. Anakin just laughs, dipping Obi-Wan down with one arm, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips when he’s not expecting it.

 

     Obi-Wan just blinks, then falls into a fit of giggles. Anakin laughs with him, not sure if it was the kiss or something else that set him off.

 

     “I think I just agreed to help a Separatist,” he pulls Anakin closer and whispers. The words pass over him like water; only the feeling of Obi-Wan’s coarse beard hair brushing over his ear as he speaks stays in his mind. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

     “Doesn’t matter,” Anakin brushes it aside and pulls Obi-Wan back to a standing position. “More wine?” He waves his hand to one of the waiters before Obi-Wan can answer, but the red in his cheeks tells Anakin yes.

  


     The room is becoming increasingly hard to navigate, as the floor seems to have shifted into a thirty degree tilt. Anakin feels like he’ll start sliding into the walls at any moment, not that it particularly concerns him. Obi-Wan is next to him, an arm around his waist to anchor himself while he chats with Tmela.

 

     At some point, the Twi’lek had joined the gala, after making a quick toast in honor of the full moon. As the glasses clinked against each other, she had looked toward the vaulted ceiling. The domed apex of the room reflected the golden lights that circled the round walls, but began to recede, leaving a transparisteel layer behind. From the dance floor, they had seen out into the starry night, saw the full moon they had honored with drinks. The crowd gasped at the spectacle as if they’d never seen a moon before. A small part of Anakin scoffed at them, but he felt himself ogling at the sight with the rest of them.

 

     Now, she is murmuring things to him. Anakin can hear, louder than the music in fact. _It’s weird how distorted the sounds are._ Things that he can normally drown out are at the forefront of his mind. The smacking of Tmela’s lips as she speaks, the soft jingle of her jewelry when she gestures toward Obi-Wan.

 

     “I hear you’re still interested in helping the Lothalian governor, Sib.” Her voice is light, as if she isn’t truly concerned. Her eyebrows lift incredulously and Anakin stares forward into the crowd, a smile on his lips that he can’t seem to control. He is glad that she isn’t mad at them anymore. _Maybe things will work out even though her plans are delayed._

 

     “Where’d you hear that from?” Obi-Wan laughs, swirling his fourth glass of wine. “I may have felt a slight bit of remorse by refusing to share the profits with you. His planet still needs help.”

 

     “I knew you’d come around,” Tmela cooed, patting Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “We can help people.”

 

     “I’m still not taking your mutant plants, my lady,” he drawled over the last words, raising an eyebrow at her. “I’ll get some friends to provide them with food until you can scrounge up some plants that don’t have stolen genes in them.”

 

     Tmela doesn’t seem too thrown by Obi-Wan’s talk. She just nods and laughs softly, leaving her hand resting on his shoulder. Anakin’s lower eyelid is twitching and he fights the urge to rub at it. His whole body is starting to feel antsy, as if he wants to move somewhere, anywhere. Obi-Wan’s arm tenses around him and Anakin gets a feeling in the Force that Obi-Wan is ready to leave as well.

 

     “Maybe I’ll see you in the morning for tea with the governor?” She asks as Anakin starts to untangle himself from Obi-Wan’s grasp.

 

     Obi-Wan just stares at her for a moment, as if he hasn’t been present until this very moment. “Hmmm,” he pauses, stroking his beard. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

 

     “Don’t let your friend change your mind in the next few hours,” she quips, giving Anakin a softer look than the threat had suggested. Obi-Wan and Anakin look at each other, burst into laughter, and lock arms as they turn away from her. _Tmela Avos. Who does she think she is anyway?_

  


     Their helpful friend Noh Tersem is nowhere to be found when they leave the grand ballroom, Anakin’s fingers tracing the wall as he struggles to stand up straight. Everything is still spinning. _The dancers aren’t even here anymore. Why is the floor tilting?_ The thought makes him laugh. The whole planet is spinning too, Anakin thinks as he tries to drag the two of them back to their hotel room. The problem is that there aren’t very many signs to guide their way, and the little golden plaques are written in Nethian script he couldn’t have read if he was sober. Now it looks like the letters are jumping off the metal, floating in front of him.

 

     “A refresher,” Obi-Wan mutters, still stifling laughter from their attempt to walk in a straight line. “We need one.”

 

     “That’s a good start.” He straightens up and squints in the direction Obi-Wan is pointing. It isn’t too far away. They can hold it together for a couple more meters.

 

     “Lead the way, Doctor!” He yells, giggling as Obi-Wan starts running toward the refresher. Anakin’s knees give out slightly when he moves to chase after him, like they’re made of rubber. “Not so fast, kriff!” He yells, but it’s too late.

 

     Obi-Wan disappears through the doorway to the ‘fresher, leaving Anakin alone in the hall, and Anakin feels a momentary loss in his chest. Footsteps are echoing down the hallway behind him and they sound like someone banging on metal serving platters right next to his ears. He startles, twisting back and leaning a hand on the wall.

 

     It’s someone tall. Green. Doesn’t smell very good. Anakin’s nose crinkles. The being approaches him, but doesn’t make eye contact. It walks quickly, as if it is being chased. Anakin’s mind latches onto the creature, reaching out to it through the Force.

 

     It hits him then.

 

     The green-scaled skin, tattered-like with cuts and bulges of scar tissue, is familiar. The weeping wound across his right eye and bandage around his hand. Without the DL-51, he is still too out-of-place in a building like the Taman Emas. The Trandoshan captain. The Trandoshan assassin. They are one in the same. Not a band of smugglers after all. Tmela’s hired men, sent to intimidate and strong-arm whole businesses out of their resources.

 

     The faint smell of flowers. The refresher they’d used in Galira’s apartment early in the morning, just a few days ago. It had smelled the same way. It brings him to his knees.

 

     The visions start flooding back, all of the images at once.The flesh tearing as the knife cuts away at Galira’s throat, the bubbling blood as she sputters and dies. Her cold, lifeless body he found in the apartment. Black powder split on the soft white carpet, the browning caked stains of her blood to join it. A white sheet covering her body.

 

     The Trandoshan is long gone, continuing down the hallway with no more than a single anxious glance back toward Anakin. _He doesn’t recognize me. Please let him not recognize me._ His lungs are threatening to climb out his throat. He wants to scream but only panicked laughter comes out instead. He has to bite down on his lip to stop the shameful giggles. He can barely see straight, instead trapped in the violence of his mind.

 

     But it was real. Not a dream of the future, but a terrifying glimpse of what had happened to her. Tmela had killed her. Galira was dead because of this woman.

 

_Tmela knows we’re trying to stop her._

  


     He stumbles into the refresher, ignoring Obi-Wan’s questions as he makes a beeline for the toilet and promptly empties the contents of his stomach in its general direction. All of liquor he’d consumed burns its way out of him, fueled by the impending risk of death. Anakin’s head pounds like he’s been stuck out in the Jundland Wastes for six days with an empty canteen, but he forces himself to sit back and rest against the cool sides of the stall. It cools his temples slightly, enough to let him reach out into the Force and purge the alcohol from his system slowly. After a couple seconds, black starts to creep into the corners of his vision, but he pushes on. The alcohol resists unlike anything he’s ever had before. Worse than Hondo Ohnaka’s pirate brews, which surprises him.

 

     “Anakin? Are you alright?” Obi-Wan is behind him, blissfully unaware of the situation. A warm hand rests against Anakin’s back, rubbing smooth circles. It helps. He’s soon able to distinguish the borders of objects more than before, and laughing doesn’t seem like an irresistible urge anymore.

 

     “Obi-Wan, you need to get this stuff out of your system.” All he gets is a tilted head and a stare. It forces Anakin to stand up slowly, flushing away the remnants of his sickness and pulling Obi-Wan over to the sinks. “This isn’t going to feel so great. I apologize in advance.”

 

     “Always ruining the fun,” Obi-Wan huffs but complies. Another oddity. He stands in front of Anakin, eyes closed and swaying slightly from side to side.

     Anakin presses a hand to Obi-Wan’s chest, trying to sort out the man’s bloodstream. It swirls with the stuff, which as he sees more and more clearly with each passing minute, is not behaving like alcohol. _Poison, maybe? It feels like we were gassed or something._ Obi-Wan lets out a groan and winces. His face is turning pale, lips twisted into a frown. Thirty seconds later, he pushes Anakin away and heads for the toilet himself.

 

     “I’m sorry,” he whispers, trying to comfort him just as Obi-Wan had done to him. The contact allows him to continue the purging process. It feels like someone applied a bacta patch to your brain and ripped it off way too soon, Anakin thinks. Obi-Wan wretches again and he can’t help but wince. Anakin’s body is stronger than the older man’s, not only from age, but also from his connection to the Living Force. “It’ll be over soon, I promise.”

 

\---

 

     Obi-Wan has known few things as vile as this. The toilet has become his best friend and he hugs onto it for dear life. He finds enough of his brain functioning to thank the Force for Anakin’s resilience, as he knows he wouldn’t be strong enough to purge the nasty stuff from himself in this condition. Finally, the pain begins to subside. He sits back against the wall of the stall and Anakin is there beside him, regret written all over his face.

 

     “I haven’t had alcohol that strong since my Padawan days,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face.

 

     “I don’t think it was the alcohol at all.”

 

     “What do you mean?”

 

     Anakin grips his arm, focusing him. “Master, I think we were poisoned.”

 

     Obi-Wan is silent. He thought they had played their parts well enough. Clearly not. It seems as though death follows them wherever they go in this blasted war.

 

     “And I saw the Trandoshan from the smuggler base we tried to infiltrate. He-” Anakin’s throat catches on the words. “He’s the leader of Tmela’s keftite mining operation. They’re smuggling the compound from all over the galaxy. He’s the one that killed Galira.” Obi-Wan doesn’t see fear in Anakin’s eyes very often, but it is very clear now that he is afraid. “I don’t think Tmela is planning on letting us leave.”

 

     The words settle in his mind and with it comes a wave of nausea that has him gripping the sides of the toilet again. After a few minutes, Anakin steps outside the ‘fresher to get him a glass of water.

 

     “I’ll be right back, Master. Call if you need me.”

 

     Except Anakin doesn’t come back.

 

**_Anakin._ **

 

**_Anakin?_ **

 

     He stumbles out of the refresher to find an empty hallway. Shouts and laughter from the ballroom echo around him, haunting instead of promising more excitement. Anakin is nowhere to be found. It’s not the first time they’ve ever been separated, but when he reaches out, the Force is quiet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our boy is LOST. Fuck. 
> 
> What in the fuck is happening?
> 
> As always, let me know what you think down in the comments :D I love to know what you guys are thinking. Shout out to all of the lovely people that have stuck with me this far, because I appreciate you!
> 
> [theunethicalscientist](https://theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com/) and [selcier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selcier/pseuds/Selcier) were instrumental in the creation of this chapter, as with every chapter. What would I do without them?
> 
> Check out my main blog [lacontradictionvivante](http://lacontradictionvivante.tumblr.com/) or my blog about star wars novels [kenobiapologist](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com/)!


	12. It Feels Like a Lifetime; It Feels Like a Second

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obi-Wan is on his own. Anakin is nowhere to be found. Tmela is exceedingly evil. How could it get much worse?
> 
> Jokes on you, it's about to get ten times worse.
> 
> Welcome to the golden hotel, boys.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO! I tried to crank out this chapter as fast as possible since I left y'all on a cliffhanger. It's been 20 days instead of 30. I call that progress!
> 
> Obi-Wan gets violent in this one, so be ready for that. (Cheers to everyone that was rooting for him to do that)  
> I won't spoil too much, but shit gets real in this chapter. We're nearing the end of the a plot-heavy section, which I'm excited for. I'm ready to jump into the angst and romance again guys! 
> 
> I'm nervous to see what you think of this one, since some of the mystery is revealed. People have wonderful imaginations and I hope I can live up to the expectations. See you at the end!

Obi-Wan steps tentatively, feeling the passing of multiple beings just outside the ‘fresher door. It’s been fifteen minutes and Anakin hasn’t returned. The sharp claws of nervousness have started to tear a hole in Obi-Wan’s stomach, but he quells them briefly with an exhale of emotion into the Force and a sip of water from the faucet. The Trandoshan smuggler had seen Anakin out in the hallway and presumably reported to Tmela that he was the same human to have murdered half their team at the outpost in the desert. Thankfully, the reptilian hadn’t also seen Obi-Wan. He still has the advantage of surprise.

 

But not for long.

 

His head still aches from whatever poison Tmela had been so eager to taint their drinks with. Or the cakes. Whatever it is, it leaves echoes of its control over him. The group outside has moved on, turning the corner and voices blending into the din of the ongoing party. Obi-Wan takes the chance to step outside and head back toward the main ballroom, but as he reaches the end of hallway, the noise begins to move toward him.

The wooden doors have been flung open and guests are spilling out into the wide hallway. Obi-Wan chokes back a breath, pressing himself against the cream wall beside him and sinking into the Force that hums in the floor and wood supports underneath layers of construction materials. He can hear the voices of the same attendants that manned the ballroom doors, repeating instructions that funnel the partygoers away from the room. Obi-Wan’s body begins to warm, as if his cells are vibrating. The Force cloaks him until he is no longer a separate entity from his surroundings; they will not see him.

He slides closer to the end of the hallway, watching the herd of people continue past him without catching a glimpse. They wobble on their feet, frequently reaching out to one another as untroubled laughter escapes from their lips. But something strange is going on, past the point of the usual intoxication. None of them fall away from the group or separate into pairs. These people aren’t all strangers, but they certainly aren’t a well-oiled machine like the 212th battalion. Their steps are clumsy, but propelled by an invisible force, as if they are being pushed. It makes his stomach turn again, but he doesn’t wait to calm himself before turning the corner and slipping through the doors to the ballroom before they shut.

Very few linger in the large space and it seems more threatening, like a gaping mouth ready to swallow them up. Obi-Wan spots Tmela on the other side of the dance floor, surrounded by several attendants. They are larger than the ones by the door, muscled and permanently frowning. He takes the time to memorize their faces; a male Twi’lek with red skin and a silver scar that bisects his nose at an angle, a distortion on his right side suggests weaponry hidden under his black jacket; a female Togruta with layers of leather and a electrostaff in her hand, eyeing Tmela with a smirk on her face; and lastly a brown-skinned being with its face obscured by a mask with glinting eyepieces. Obi-Wan isn’t worried about two of them, but the Twi’lek with a blaster could easily take him out before he could draw his lightsaber. It still lays against his ribcage, a constant reminder of his last resort to violence.

Tmela doesn’t leave them. Instead, she beckons them up the staircases and through a door Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize. It leaves him alone in the room with the musicians, still evading recognition by blending into the Force around him.

He doesn’t know what to do. He has to get Tmela alone in order to arrest her. It had been bad enough that she stole the real Sib Mihail’s work and was profiting from it, made worse by her attempts to profit from the sale of sentient species back to its home planet. The Separatists were trying to buy her support, to turn her against the Republic and take away a planet that gave considerable resources to the Outer Rim. On top of all of it, Tmela had poisoned them all with a substance he couldn’t identify, and has an entourage of hired mercenaries used to conquer mining operations. With said mercenaries milling around the hotel, Obi-Wan has no way of containing the situation.

 

**Anakin, where are you?**

 

Still no answer. The mission is going up in flames and Anakin is nowhere to be found.

 

There is no way of finding him in the huge estate without a trail to follow. Obi-Wan leaves the ballroom through a side door and manages to find his way back to the lobby, and then to the secluded guest areas. Other guests are fumbling with the locks on their hotel room doors, glazed eyes and disjointed movements making it hard for them to do just about anything. He lets his connection to the Force die away as he reaches his floor, making a show by struggling with the wrong door briefly before finding his own room. He knows they are watching, and he also knows that he isn’t supposed to be sober.

  


They come for him minutes later. Obi-Wan isn’t sure what the other guests are doing now, so he has no way of feigning drunkenness that will convince them. Instead he sits on the bed, casually looking up at the masked individual and Togruta as they bust through his door unannounced.

 

“Doctor Sib Mihail,” the masked one says. The voice is deep and distorted. “Come with us.”

“Who are you?” Obi-Wan ventures.

“Tmela wants to see you. Doesn’t matter who we are.” The Togruta speaks this time, grabbing his left arm with a tight grip.

 

“Have you seen my friend?” Obi-Wan asks as she lifts him against his will, pulling him toward the door with a strong tug. “He went missing earlier in the evening and I can’t seem to remember where he went.”

 

They don’t answer him. There is only silence as they make their way to a turbolift that takes them a few levels higher than the dining area where he and Anakin had first met the devious woman Tmela Avos. Obi-Wan is beginning to get familiar with the hotel’s complex layout by the time they reach a small office. There is only a desk and two chairs, one on each side. Reminiscent of interrogations, he notes as they push him forward. The only thing out of place is the table on the far right side of the room, with several bottles and crystal glasses. A lone flower sits in a clear vase next to the bottles. Another dune lily, another standoff.

 

“Wait outside,” Tmela orders her attendants— mercenaries posing as doormen. Without a pause, she turns her gaze to Obi-Wan. “Sib, a pleasure to see you again.”

 

The door shuts with a slam. Obi-Wan doesn’t speak.

 

“I’m afraid we haven’t been meeting under the best circumstances.” She gestures toward the chair in front of her. “Please, sit down.”

 

There is nothing to do but sit, so he does. Tmela’s body language is relaxed, although he can’t understand why. She should be on edge. She should be accusing him of impersonating Dr. Mihail. Instead, she is clinging to the name Sib. “Are the circumstances better this time, my lady?” Obi-Wan cocks an eyebrow. “I must say that I’m in a bit of trouble. I’ve lost my dear Devon. Have you seen him?”

 

Tmela seems to stifle a scoff. “Have I seen him? Yes.”

 

“Where is he?”

 

“You’d like to know, wouldn’t you,” she teases. “We’ve detained him for your safety, as well as those of the guests here at the hotel.”

 

Obi-Wan can feel it, there’s more he can pry out of her. He just needs a general location, anything to narrow down the search for Anakin. He tucks the spark of hope underneath a layer of surprise. His eyes widen and his hands shake. “Detained? Why would you detain him? This is outrageous.”

 

“Sib.” She shakes her head. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice what he was up to? Right under your nose—” She pauses. “But you wouldn’t know, would you?”

 

“I’m sorry. I’m a bit confused.”

 

“He used some sort of mind-control on one of my scientists. The security guard on duty went over the recordings a few hours ago after they found the poor man sitting in his office staring at the wall. He was supposed to collect samples for quality control this evening but he never sent anything to our team.”

 

Obi-Wan has to hold back the instinctual wince at Anakin’s mistake. _He shouldn’t have gone poking around in those greenhouses by himself_. Tmela is studying his expressions with laser-focus and he can’t afford to let his guard down. She seems to have avoided assuming his role as an accomplice.

 

“Do you think he did the same thing to me?” Obi-Wan looks into Tmela’s eyes, searching.

 

“It’s possible that he has been manipulating you from the moment you met.”

 

“No, he wouldn’t do that to me,” Obi-Wan shakes his head. Feigns denial. “We trust each other.”

“Sib, he’s a Jedi. I found evidence of him tampering with the security cameras and have witnesses that say he was trying to infiltrate one of my storage facilities four days ago. He’s going to bring this whole thing down on us if we don’t eliminate him.”

 

 _Eliminate._ Of course, he’s just a loose end in their plan to sell illegal goods. And Obi-Wan still doesn’t know where Anakin is being kept. Usually, he trusts the man to protect himself. Anakin is capable of much more than anyone he has ever known. But the void in the Force is telling him otherwise. Without the Force, Anakin is just as penetrable to blaster bolts, just as weak to electrocution, as a normal human being. Obi-Wan would know. They’ve been tortured together before.

But this is different. Tmela isn’t a Separatist looking for secrets about the Republic army’s hidden bases, not planning to use a Jedi as a bargaining chip to get resources. She has everything she needs without inflaming her relationship with the Republic. She will kill Anakin quietly.

 

“You can’t kill him,” Obi-Wan resists. “I love him.”

 

“Stop thinking with your cock for once,” Tmela hisses and stands up, circling the table to come beside him. “This is serious. The Republic could destroy everything I’ve worked for and I will not save your lover boy at the expense of my life’s work.”

 

She lets a hand rest on his shoulder. “Doctor Mihail, you want to help the people of Lothal, don’t you?”

 

Obi-Wan stays silent.

 

“We could be the perfect team, I’ve been saying it all along. And now that he knows how corrupt you are, you’ll never be able to go back to Coruscant without getting rid of him. The Republic will denounce you, strip you of your home, your money, your academic prestige.” The talk would be working if Obi-Wan didn’t know the truth. “And most importantly, your claims that I’m stealing genes you created will be at the very bottom of their list. I’ll be long gone with my plants by the time you get anyone to hear your cries for help.” She has leaned in so close, he can feel her breath on his ear.

 

“You won’t get away with this, Tmela,” he growls.

 

Her hand tightens on his shoulder. “That Jedi boy is about to ruin everything you’ve built. Don’t you feel the slightest bit of resentment toward him?”  She slides her hand down his arm and bends down to catch his eye despite his efforts to avoid her. Her gaze are dark with the same storm of anger he had seen in her eyes during their first dinner together. “I’m going to kill him, Sib. I have cameras in the room where they’re keeping him. We can watch them put him out his misery and then carry on with our business.”

 

Obi-Wan refuses to acknowledge her, but his heart beats faster. He was wrong about her. She seeks revenge for the complications Anakin caused to her operation. She will not kill him quietly. She will want him to suffer. The lack of Anakin’s presence in the Force begins to suffocate him. _I have to turn this in my favor before it’s too late._

 

“I know you love your little pets. I know,” Tmela coos as her hand releases his arm. She moves away. “But at this point, there’s very little you can do to fix this.” Tmela’s golden jewelry is tinkling against her wrists as she walks, the only sound in the giant room except his shallow breaths. No windows. One door. Walls made of some kind of dark wood, engraved with tiny figures just as the railings in the ballroom. _There is only one way out of this._

 

“Perhaps you need a drink to calm you down.” Her voice carries as she walks over to a serving table. “After all, this is shocking news to both of us. Devon seemed so-” Tmela returns to the desk, sliding a full glass of white wine toward him. “Sweet.”

 

Obi-Wan doesn’t want to drink from the glass. He knows what it will feel like, and he knows that he needs every ounce of strength in his bones to fight his way to Anakin. But now that he has seen what happened to the other guests, he doubts whether he and Anakin were the intended targets at all. She decided to poison an entire ballroom of people and he still doesn’t know why. It keeps him from telling her the truth. Springing this trap is not at all appealing, but he braces himself in the Force and takes a long drink from the glass. It feels fine when he swallows it, the faint warmth of alcohol unbelievably _normal_ despite the insidious power of it inside his bloodstream. _What chemical is she using? It’s like nothing I’ve ever encountered._ Tmela has relaxed back into her chair, her brow smoothed and eyes brighter. Accepting the wine has made her comfortable again.

‘It’s curious. Initially, I thought you were in on the whole scheme,” she admits. She pulls a dark datapad from the corner of the desk and it responds to her touch, lighting up a scene from a hotel room—his hotel room. “You two never seemed to be in your room for very long.” She looks to him again, assessing his reaction.

 

“You were watching us?”

 

“A precaution against theft.”

 

“An invasion of privacy,” Obi-Wan counters. Tmela just squints her eyes at him. He takes another generous gulp of the wine.

 

“What were you really up to last night?”

 

Her words cause an ache behind his right eye and his lips fall open against his will. The gentle warmth in his stomach has spread into a tingling fire that initially felt pleasant, but now that he tries to fight the feeling with the Force, it clings to him. It becomes a pain like flesh burning. Obi-Wan can barely bring himself to feel frightened. He just wants it to stop.

 

“I was reading a novel the entire evening. Didn’t you see that on the cameras?” His words are strained as he fights the power of the poison. He wishes more than anything for Anakin’s healing touch; it was so much better to feel the flow of the Force through him, whisking the poison away without having to focus himself.

 

“No. I didn’t. Mr. Aristides helped himself to the footage after pulling the same trick on our security guard. What are you trying to hide?”

 

“Nothing,” he spits, and takes another drink of the wine just to prove a point.

 

“I’ll ask you one more time,” Tmela’s voice drops into a lower timber, her eyes staring into his. “What are you trying to hide?”

 

 _Force protect me,_ Obi-Wan prays as a wave of pain washes over him in cadence with her words. It is then that he realizes what the poison truly does. It is not to incapacitate someone, but to compel them into submission. Very similar to the Force suggestions the Jedi use on the weak-of-mind, he recognizes. It sends a shudder through him to resist, and his body grows cold with the realization that she holds some sort of power over everyone that attended the gala. _What is the purpose of this?_

 

There is no time for him to deliberate. Tmela draws a small blaster pistol from underneath one of the thin draping silks of her dress and points it at his head. Obi-Wan doesn’t spend any time trying to pacify her; it is beyond that now. She is a criminal - a terrorist to the people of a Republic planet - and she will not get away with this. His head spins as he stands up, but it doesn’t stop him from reaching at and pulling the weapon from her grasp. It clatters to the floor, the power cell crushed from within at the squeeze of his hand into a fist.

Tmela’s eyes widen; there will not be a struggle here and she knows it. She stumbles back into her chair, forgetting herself in shock. “You- you too?”

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you, my lady.” Obi-Wan allows his Coruscanti accent to return in full force, a hint of sarcasm in his words.He rounds the edge of the desk and extends a hand, forcing her down into her chair. “My name is Obi-Wan Kenobi, and on behalf of the Grand Army of the Republic, I must arrest you.”

 

“If you must.” She seems too resigned. It’s all wrong. He can’t catch her before she presses a small button on her comm. “But if you’re going to have to choose between me and your Jedi friend.”

 

The door breaks open, the two guards from outside responding to what must have been an emergency signal she was able to broadcast from her commlink. Their blaster rifles are raised and they immediately begin to fire at him, shots aimed at his torso that he dodges without a thought. He grips the masked guard’s blaster with the Force and rips it from being’s hands, throwing it into the Togruta female’s head with a satisfying crack. She drops to the floor, knocked unconscious by the blow.

 

“Kill the Jedi!” Tmela shouts into her comm, crouched beneath the desk to avoid the spray of blaster fire from the remaining guard’s secondary weapon. Obi-Wan pulls the guard’s feet backward and pushes him through the door. The force sends the guard toppling over the railing and down into the courtyard area below. Palm trees and tangles of tropical vines do little to break the fall. Obi-Wan doesn’t think they’ll be getting up any time soon.

 

“Release the force-cuffs before yo-” Tmela breaks off as Obi-Wan turns back to her. Her chest is heaving but she scrambles to her feet to face him.

 

“Now,” he stalks closer to her. “That’s quite enough, Tmela. This game you’ve been playing is over.”

 

“That’s what you think.”

 

He didn’t think to bring a pair of handcuffs with him, tucked away underneath his shirt or inside his jacket pocket. But the limp Togruta guard beside him has some sort of grappling gun attached to her waist; it will have to suffice. He bends down to unclip the device from her utility belt when a sudden stabbing pain grips his chest with such force that he loses his balance, falling to his hands and knees. He can’t breathe, and his first thought is of the poison, but this is a completely different type of torture. Like someone is burning his nerves from the inside out.

 

**Please, Obi-Wan. Please hear me.**

 

The thought is weak, barely brushing against his consciousness. It brings the air back into his lungs with such force that he chokes on it and he opens his eyes to find his surroundings blurred by tears of pain.

 

**Anakin?**

 

**Master, you have to-**

 

The thought disappears. _Anakin, where are you?_

Tmela is walking up to him, crouching down, stroking his cheek as he lies on the floor paralyzed by the pain.

This pain - it is Anakin’s pain - is not his own, yet it rips through him like a blade.

 

“What have you done to him?” Obi-Wan growls, unable to pull himself away from her cool hand.

“I’m eliminating him, Obi-Wan.” She says his name like she is savoring a hardened sugar candy. “I heard that Jedi are unusually connected to their surroundings. That they can feel each other’s pain, you might say.”

 

Obi-Wan ignores the urge to wretch in response to the pain that comes through his bond with Anakin. And it goes against everything in his bones, but he closes off the link between them and feels the pain slip away. It leaves him shaking on the floor, guilty from the relief that washes over him. Tmela’s hand slips away from his cheek and she starts to stand up, clearly pitying his writhing form. Obi-Wan throws a leg out to trip her as she attempts to walk away, sending her sprawling out onto the woven carpet in the hallway. He still can’t stand on his legs, weak from the vicarious abuse, so he crawls over to her.

She growls, kicking him square in the jaw with a pointed heel, but it does nothing to deter Obi-Wan from his goal. He grabs her foot and drags her, maneuvering to bind her hands behind her back.

 

“Where is he?” He demands, pressing her head into the floor.

 

Her lips are protruding, displaced by the pressure forcing her into the swirling designs of the carpet beneath her. “Gone,” she laughs, almost hysterical. “He’s gone.” Obi-Wan grips her neck harder and she chokes.

 

“I don’t have time for this.” Obi-Wan calls the grappling device to him from the doorway and winds the wire around Tmela’s hands and feet. He pulls her over to a pillar supporting the balconies above them and wraps it around that as well. He doesn’t know if he will return to retrieve her, or what will be waiting when he finds Anakin. All he knows is that Anakin would abandon the mission to save him, and as selfish as it is, Obi-Wan feels the same. So he leaves her there, tied up and laughing at him. But not before stealing the commlink from her wrist.

 

\---

 

Obi-Wan opens himself to the Force slowly, but the blazing maelstrom of pain isn’t there to suffocate him this time. Instead, he feels dizzy. It’s as if his life is being drained from him as he stands on the staircase, and he puts out a hand to catch himself as he staggers to the side.

 

**Anakin!**

 

He screams it into the Force. There is no response, but Anakin is there. Faintly. He can feel it.

 

**I’m coming for you. Hold on for a little longer.**

 

There are no coherent thoughts to answer, but the tendril of life reaching out to him brightens slightly, allowing him to feel it through the maze of floors within the hotel. He separates the source from all of the life-forms milling around him, breaking into a run as it resolves into a clearer path.

 

Obi-Wan lets the Force guide him toward Anakin, shoving attendants out of his way as he sprints down the long hallways that glow gold despite the time of night. He makes it to the lobby, but Anakin is farther down still. So down Obi-Wan goes. Balcony-dwelling guests shriek as he leaps right off the side of the banister and falls past six floors of hotel rooms. He lands with the grace of a feline on the ground floor, people startling away from him. Obi-Wan is gone before they can realize that he didn’t perish from the jump.

Anakin’s light in the Force is so strong that Obi-Wan can normally feel his presence from planets away, across half the galaxy if he lets himself open fully. Anakin is a star, radiant and burning. The Force swirls around him as if he is the epicenter of the universe. And that is why Obi-Wan’s heart clenches and his stomach ties itself in knots now; Anakin is almost gone. The star is fading. _No, no, no. Not like this, Anakin. Stay with me._

He is close. He can feel the end of the thread. It pulls him down flights of stairs, past shouting guards that end up flattened against the walls by an invisible pressure before they can draw weapons. It pulls him past nondescript rooms with metal mesh embedded in the transparisteel windows, white walls just like the laboratories, but with the shadow of a man cast on them as Obi-Wan Kenobi passes under each fluorescent light at inhuman speed. He rips the side of his shirt open, digs into the pouch at his side and draws out his lightsaber.

 

_Here._

The door rips from its hinges and Obi-Wan tosses it aside like a sheet of flimsiplast. Before him, several of Tmela’s mercenaries stand staring at a man hanging from restraints, blood dripping onto the floor from a wound on his stomach.

 

_Anakin._

 

The mercenaries turn their heads at the sudden intrusion; one even has the sense to point a blaster rifle at Obi-Wan as he stands in the doorway.

 

Anakin has lashes across his body, his clothes burnt and torn away. _Electrocution. Attempted evisceration._ Obi-Wan cannot take his eyes off the man he had danced with just an hour ago; the man that caressed him so gently in the early evening sunlight before they pulled on their clothes for the gala. It feels like a lifetime - it feels like a second - and he ignites his lightsaber. It hums in his hand, an old friend that acts as a conduit for his pain. The blaster bolts never even come close. He is cold, calculated, and merciless as he deflects a bolt back into one of the men. It hits him square in the chest and he falls without preamble, straight to the ground. Obi-Wan no longer hears except the beating of his own heart, slamming against his chest. He parries shots by the other two left standing, backing them ever closer to the corner of the room. It takes only a moment for him to cut down the man standing closest to him, severing his arms from his body in one fluid motion. His stab through the final man’s chest is too late - he has already pressed the console beside him. It locks down the room with a shudder, dropping gates down in front of the doorway Obi-Wan had passed through. Alarms ring out around him, the room flashing red to match the howling sounds. He doesn’t hear them yet, his own pulse in his ears still drowning out everything.

 

The skewered man drops to the floor as Obi-Wan extinguishes his lightsaber. He rushes to Anakin’s side, rips the cuffs from around his wrists and lets Anakin fall into his arms as they both sink to the floor. Obi-Wan is used to blood, or he should be. But not when it’s Anakin’s. He has to rip the remainder of his shirt off to use as a bandage for the stab wound, pressing down to staunch the bleeding to his best ability. But it isn’t enough and Obi-Wan knows it.

 

“Anakin, stay with me.” There are almost no places he can hold for fear of enlarging the slashes across his arms and back. Anakin lays limp in his arms. “I’m here now. You’re safe,” he whispers, his hands shaking as they press down on the blood-soaked shirt strips. He looks around to see if there are any medical supplies, but an emptiness envelops him suddenly, pulling his eyes back to Anakin.

 

“Wake up,” he pats Anakin’s cheek gently. “Come on, padawan.”

 

His hands start to tremble as Anakin’s Force signature fails to return. He is dying and there is nothing Obi-Wan can do to save him. And something inside of him breaks then, the very last piece that held together the man called Obi-Wan Kenobi. He is not supposed to lose him now; a naive part of him had hoped that he never would. They were going to grow old together, bring back an era of peace to the Republic and finally take that trip to Iloh they’d always joked about. There is so much he hasn’t told his former Padawan about his past, his regrets, his secrets. Obi-Wan never told Anakin that he loved him, not just as a brother that fought back-to-back with him on the battlefield, but also with every part of his soul. The Jedi Order would send him away if they knew how he longed to see one more smile from Anakin Skywalker. Obi-Wan’s deepest weakness; the boy he’d trained and the man he trusted with his life.

So he cries, because it isn’t supposed to end this way. He opens his mouth to scream but nothing comes out. Obi-Wan pulls Anakin into his lap, letting the makeshift bandages fall away and clutching Anakin’s face with both hands. He’s covered in blood - they’re both covered in blood. It doesn’t matter anymore. He presses his forehead to Anakin’s, as if it will make a difference.

 

“You can’t leave now,” he pleads. He reaches out to the Force, hoping it will be enough to seal the wounds briefly. _Stop the blood loss, keep his heart beating._ Obi-Wan has never been a good healer, but he has never been been one to quit trying. “You were the Chosen One. The galaxy needs you.”

 

He sits there while Anakin’s skin grows cold, pulling what he can from the Force to envelop them.

 

“I need you.”

 

\---

 

Anakin heaves a breath into his lungs for the first time in four minutes. It feels like the deepest layer of Corellian hell, but he breathes. And again. And again despite the persistent pain that stops him halfway through inhaling. He blinks and sees only red. The last thing he remembers is hanging from some elaborate torture device much too convenient for a group of innocent scientists doing research. The laboratories of Taman Emas are not all they’ve promised to be. It makes Anakin disappointed, but he’s too tired to do anything about it. Instead, he blinks again and a face comes into view. It’s familiar. It’s Obi-Wan, red-faced and choking on tears. _Did I die? Kriff._ He doesn’t know if he’s ever seen Obi-Wan cry. _This isn’t real._

 

“Master,” he breathes. “Hey.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes open. _Ah, there they are. Beautiful as ever._ Anakin can’t help the stupid smile that spreads across his face as Obi-Wan comes closer.

 

“Anakin?” The disbelief in his Master’s voice startles him slightly. _It must have been pretty bad if he’s this torn up about it._

 

“What happened? Did I black out?”

 

“Anakin, you-” Obi-Wan’s hands are shaking as they cradle his head and Anakin wants to reach up and steady them, but it feels too difficult to move yet. “You died.”

 

“Did you bring me back?”

 

Obi-Wan looks down over the rest of Anakin’s body as if he can’t believe his own eyes. “Yes, I think I did.” A hysterical laugh escapes from Obi-Wan before he bends down to press a kiss to Anakin’s lips. It surprises Anakin, and it’s a bit salty from all of the crying, but he melts into it anyway. _Definitely feels real._

When Obi-Wan pulls away, the unabashed affection in his eyes is clouded only by the lingering fear from a part of time Anakin can’t remember. He lies there, admiring Obi-Wan’s lovely blue eyes as they stop to look at Anakin’s stomach and he wonders what the concern is for.

 

He tries to lift his head up. “What’s wrong?”

 

“Stay still, Anakin. You’re still bleeding. I will try to heal it as much as I can, but I cannot promise to fix this.” His voice tapers off and he swallows nervously.

 

“Do what you can, Obi-Wan. It’s not like I’m going anywhe-” An overwhelming heat surrounds him, stealing the breath out of his lungs before he can finish his quip. He tries not to cry out when Obi-Wan starts to pull the wound shut, but it hurts more than anything he’s ever felt. Worse than getting his arm cut off by Count Dooku’s lightsaber. Worse than LAAT/i stepping on his chest. He can faintly hear sirens wailing and Obi-Wan whispering apologies as he tries to rebuild Anakin’s viscera. After a few minutes, the pain dulls enough that he can breathe. Obi-Wan helps him sit up, but leaves him leaning up against the side of a console while he breaks through the gate blocking the doorway.

 

“We have to get out of here, Anakin. I may have briefly disrupted Tmela’s plans to kill both of us, but no doubt she’s escaped from the wire I wrapped her in and sent some of her dreadful assassin-guards after us. Do you think you can make it if I carry you?”

 

“You wrapped her in wire?” He laughs, although it devolves into a weak cough as Obi-Wan returns to his side, pulling him up to stand on weakened legs. They twitch - a side effect of the electrocution - but he wraps an arm around Obi-Wan and they limp out into the hallway. “You never taught me that one, Master.”

 

“Hopefully, you’ll never need it,” he huffs. “It’s not very effective.”

 

“How are we supposed to get out of this kriffing place?” Anakin shuffles, wincing slightly as Obi-Wan’s hand around his waist digs into one of the lashes on his side. He almost pulls both of them onto the ground before he realizes that Obi-Wan has stopped walking. His eyes follow the tiles on the floor until they meet the wall at the very end of the hallway, where the silhouette of a man stands amid the intermittent flashing of red and darkness. Obi-Wan doesn’t hesitate; he ignites his lightsaber at his side, a threat and a promise of death to anyone that gets in their way.

 

They will be leaving this hotel, whether Tmela likes it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...what did you think? Please let me know.
> 
> I've been dreaming about this part of the story for months. Probably since I first came up with the idea last summer, brainstorming with [theunethicalscientist](theunethicalscientist.tumblr.com) after work. It's finally here! I made it this far! 
> 
> What happened in this chapter is going to have big consequences for Anakin and Obi-Wan's relationship, as well as the galaxy. I'm hyped to explore all of those things. GUYS IT'S PADME TIME NOW. AND R2! 
> 
> (This chapter's dialogue had some heavy inspiration from another movie/book. Let me know if you noticed? I didn't do it on purpose but I watched in recently and it sort of bled into my writing and I find it amusing.)


	13. Oh. Fuck.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin just got resuscitated, and it almost killed Obi-Wan to do it. Now, a strange figure threatens to prevent their escape from the nightmare hotel, Taman Emas. Will the team make it off Bar Neth safely? Will we ever meet R2-D2? 
> 
> Someone has to tell Yoda that this mission exploded into chaos.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! I have received some lovely comments since posting the last chapter, which really inspired me to continue writing this story. (shoutout to nowhere-blake :D) It's been over a year since I started writing this fic and I'm thankful for everyone that's stayed with me along the way. As people hoped, our boys get the chance to let out some emotions in this chapter after all the action in the past few updates. Get ready for some hurt/comfort! 
> 
> See ya at the end :D

 

Anakin is on death’s door despite Obi-Wan’s best efforts to heal him; he can tell by the way Anakin seems to weigh more heavily on his shoulder with each passing second. The ominous shadow moves toward them quickly and Obi-Wan braces himself, lightsaber guarding the two of them as much as possible. Thankfully, blaster bolts never come their way. Instead, the weathered face of the hotel clerk, Noh Tersem, comes into view beneath the flashing red lights. The cold absence of a presence is wrapped around him, just as it had been when they had first met in front of the lobby’s expansive waterfalls and ponds. Obi-Wan squints his eyes, suspicious of the seemingly unarmed man.

 

“Stay back. I will not warn you twice.” His voice seethes with a viciousness his own ears are not accustomed to hearing. Obi-Wan supposes he can blame that on Anakin’s wavering aura in the Force.  _ We don’t have much time.  _

 

Tersem does not step away. He reaches out a hand quickly. “I am not a danger to you. I wish only to help.”

 

“Why would you help us?” Obi-Wan’s eyes flit down to Anakin’s drooped frame and sees the man giving Tersem a murderous glare. His arm tightens around Anakin’s waist reflexively.

 

“Because you are Jedi Knights.”

 

The tip of Obi-Wan’s lightsaber finds Tersem’s throat with ease, stopping just short of puncturing his windpipe. “That particular detail will die down here along with the men that sought to rip my partner to shreds,” Obi-Wan spits. The old man swallows slowly, unflinching in the face of the glowing saber’s ruthless light.

 

“You will not make it alone,” he whispers. “Lady Avos has gunmen stationed at every exit, and by this time, bounty hunters stalking through every street in this city, looking for you.”

 

“I have met a bounty hunter or two, my dear friend. I think I can handle things from here,” Obi-Wan lies through his teeth, keeping his ‘saber trained on Tersem as he drags Anakin around the man and starts down the hallway.

 

“Not with him, you can’t.” It’s so blatantly obvious, Obi-Wan knows. He’s struggling to carry Anakin, the fatigue in his body from pouring every ounce of himself into the Force shows in his shaking hands and ragged breath. He only stops for a moment before Tersem swoops in, lifting Anakin’s other arm to bear some of his weight. “Tmela does not know of my allegiance,” he whispers as they make their way up the stairs slowly. “I have been careful to hide myself from her since she requisitioned this hotel.”

 

The alarms are loud, Obi-Wan notices as they climb the narrow stairs. He is just beginning to hear the sounds around him now that the adrenaline of cutting down Tmela’s men is fading in his bloodstream; the static in his ears from digging deep into the Force has echoed through his bones and left him hollow.

 

“Your allegiance to whom?”

 

“To the will of the Force.” The old man stops them in front of a small door painted the same color as the walls around it.  _ A service door. Brilliant.  _ Obi-Wan has to commend the man. The cameras will not be as prolific inside the maze of access passages, and their bodies will blend with the bustle of workers traveling from one end of the hotel to the other. They quickly join the herds of beings and he watches Noh Tersem’s eyes as he scans the various hallways for something in particular, but all of the plain doors look exactly the same to Obi-Wan.

 

“The Force,” he mutters as Tersem pulls them into a room lit with fluorescent bulbs and loud with the constant hum of machines.  _ Is this man some sort of local force-sensitive, or a spy sent by the Order?  _ He doesn’t have time to dwell on the details. 

 

Obi-Wan lowers Anakin onto a metal chair and he lets out a weak groan. There is blood weeping out of the wounds on his abdomen and his shoulders heave with the effort it takes to breathe. “We need to get out of this hotel immediately,” Obi-Wan shouts over the noise around him. Puffs of steam erupt from the corner of the room and he flinches. _We’re in a laundry room_ , he realizes. 

 

“In which spaceport is your ship located, Master Jedi?”

 

“On the west side of the city,” he says, remembering Galira’s instructions from their briefing before the mission. His hands dance over Anakin’s skin as he attempts to stop the bleeding. Obi-Wan’s fingers tremble against Anakin’s chest and he’s surprised when Anakin’s hand comes up to cover his own.

 

“Master,” he croaks. “R2 will have the ship ready. Don’t worry.”

 

“What makes you think I’m worried?” Obi-Wan attempts a joke, but his shaking form and residual panic are giving away his true feelings. He forces himself to smile and stand up, pulling his hand away from Anakin’s. He isn’t worried about R2-D2; the droid will undoubtedly be waiting in the spaceport with their borrowed Nethian craft, tucked away discreetly in Upper Seles, thanks to Galira. What concerns him is how they are going to get to the spaceport without drawing attention. Their bloodied garb and the makeshift strips of shirt poorly concealing Anakin’s slashed body are not going to help them blend in with the wealthy inhabitants of this part of the capital city. 

A loud noise from across the room draws his attention and Obi-Wan is displeased by what he sees. 

 

“How are soiled tablecloths going to get us out of this mess?” He asks Tersem, who is busy dragging a giant cart out from beneath a gaping maw of a hole in the wall. 

 

It reminds him too much of a ventilation system and he feels the dread begin to seep in. He knows exactly what the tablecloths are for.

 

_ I’ve got a bad feeling about this. _

 

\---

 

One laundry chute and fifteen minutes of suffocation by the scent of stale hors d’oeuvres later, Obi-Wan and Anakin are lifted from a large cart of red table dressings and into the brightly lit spaceport on the west side of Upper Seles. Tersem assists Obi-Wan in carrying Anakin down the loading ramp of the large rectangular utility speeder they’d borrowed to arrive undetected at the entrance to the spaceport.

 

“I cannot come any further,” the man speaks in a low tone so that only the two of them can hear. “You understand. My position within the hotel must not be compromised if I am to continue informing allies in the city.”

 

‘You have plans?” Anakin coughs, raising an eyebrow at the man. “Plans to take her down?” 

 

Obi-Wan can’t ignore the spot of blood on the corner of Anakin’s mouth that the younger man quickly wipes away. Despite Obi-Wan’s desperate attempt at healing, Anakin is still slowly dying of internal damages to his organs, and it leaves his skin crawling with the urge to sweep Anakin off his feet and carry him to the ship.

 

“For now, it is only to provide information to forces like your Order, Master Jedi,” Noh Tersem addresses them both as he explains. “The representatives of Lower Seles have been trying to remove her from the planetary government for years, but most of our people return without discovering anything. It is quite peculiar.”

 

Obi-Wan’s thoughts flicker to the intense coercion he experienced from the tainted wine Tmela served, and isn’t surprised that previous spies returned with nothing to show.

 

“She poisoned us and almost murdered my partner. Is that enough evidence for you?” Obi-Wan finds that he has lost his patience with the old man, even though he risked his life to give them safe passage out of the hotel. Anakin is bleeding out and the Council needs to be alerted of Tmela Avos’ increasing list of crimes.

 

“There is more. I know it.” Noh Tersem’s voice is full of conviction and his dark brown eyes do not waver from their gaze at Obi-Wan. “You know it.” And Obi-Wan does know it, as much as he would like to admit, that the poisoning cannot be directly traced to Tmela, and she will have disposed of the mercenaries bodies before he can get Republic agents anywhere near the hotel. But the samples Anakin stole from the greenhouse and the evidence of Galira’s murder had been sent to the nearest planet in Republic space. It will have to be enough until they can figure out how she is producing such a manipulative substance.

 

     “We will not let Tmela succeed in her plans,” Obi-Wan falls easily into reassuring the man. “I will send for help from the Republic as soon as we get clear of Seles.”

 

“May the Force be with you,” Tersem bows his head and then turns to his speeder, latching the doors shut as Obi-Wan and Anakin limp slowly toward the entrance to the spaceport.

 

It is a large port with ships glittering in the night sky, hovering above their designated pads. A giant structure with the characteristic stone pillars provides entrance to the main area where booths line either side. People are brushing past the two of them, but not without panicked looks or sneers of disgust. Anakin’s clothes are shredded; they look like they’d taken a trip through a gundark’s nest - again. Obi-Wan can’t say much for his own attire. He had ripped a hole in his shirt to get to the lightsaber pouch strapped against his chest. Now he can feel an unpleasant breeze that renews his urgency to get past the security between them and their ship.

 

“May I help you?” A guard with a pinched face and upturned nose steps between Obi-Wan and the terminal.

 

“Yes sir, my companion and I need to return to our ship. If you don’t mind, we’ll just be on our way.” Obi-Wan pains himself to put a smile on his aching face. The guard doesn’t budge.  _ What is with people standing in my way today?  _ He can feel the exhaustion pulling at his limited reserve of patience.

 

Obi-Wan heaves a deep sigh and slowly motions with his fingers as he repeats, “You will let us pass without imparting your crude judgements of our class based on our appearance.”

 

“I will let you pass without-“

 

Obi-Wan is long gone by the time the guard finishes the sentence. At a holodesk manned only by a droid, he tells it the names,  _ Sib Mihail and Devon Aristides _ , wanting to be rid of them more than anything. The location of their ship, parked in the second bay of the terminal, is printed on the ticket the droid hands him. They meet little resistance after entering the hangar bay, although the stares never cease. The faces of travelers and military personnel are concerned now; it’s not often that a pair as torn up as Obi-Wan and Anakin enter the bay reserved for distinguished guests. No doubt Tmela has eyes and ears all over the city, and at least one of them is bound to be parked in this hangar. 

He wastes no time punching in a code on the security comp and is relieved by the subtle click the door makes as it unlocks. A flurry of beeps echo from inside the ship as Obi-Wan drags a pale-faced Anakin aboard their ship. 

 

“R2, get us in the air as soon as possible. We have bounty hunters after us.”

 

The droid is smart enough to take note of Anakin’s state and wheels away to the cockpit, letting out a concerned-sounding whistle. 

 

“I’ll take care of him, R2. Just set a course for the nearest unoccupied quadrant and we’ll navigate to an actual destination from there. I want to confirm that no one in the Outer Rim has been alerted of our escape.”

 

Obi-Wan guides Anakin down onto the small medical bed toward the back of the ship and the man practically melts into the white sheet beneath him.  _ Force help me, he will survive this.  _ His hands reach for the cabinet that hides the dormant medical droid and powers it on, all the while keeping a constant watch on Anakin’s chest moving up and down slowly. 

His heart jumps as the ship lifts off the ground and begins its ascent through Bar Neth’s atmosphere. Obi-Wan returns to the cockpit and watches as the cloud layer thins out and is replaced by the dark void of space, then accesses the holocomm and starts recording a priority message to the Council. 

 

“This is Obi-Wan Kenobi, reporting on the reconnaissance mission on Bar Neth. Tmela Avos was seen making deals with members of the Hutt Cartel and Separatists for distribution of her goods, which are being illegally produced using stolen copies of Sib Mihail’s genetic blueprints for various crops. She has become the sole caretaker of a sentient grass species, whom she is attempting to sell to the governor of Lothal; an act of enslavement of an entire race. She aided the assassination of a Republic agent we had contact with before our mission, and ordered the capture, torture, and attempted murder of Anakin Skywalker. We have reason to believe Tmela is in possession of a powerful, mind-altering poison and that the guests of the gala were exposed to it, including myself and Anakin. From my observations, the poison does not wear off without use of the Force.”

 

He considers ending the message there, looking back at Anakin’s broken form, his stomach turning with worry. But without more information, it is unlikely the Order will be able to apprehend Tmela before she escapes; no doubt she will disappear into the city of Seles, maybe even leaving the planet in order to keep her secrets.

 

“Anakin has been critically injured, and we are currently on route to Naboo for immediate medical attention. Anakin was also able to send several samples from Tmela Avos’ laboratories to Naboo along with Agent Galira’s intel collected from her base in the city. I request that additional Republic agents and Jedi report to Bar Neth to arrest Tmela and her team as soon as possible. She will attempt to flee and has access to considerable weaponry. I will report again after decontamination on Naboo. Kenobi, out.”

 

The fate of many planets now rest on his message being received before Tmela can vacate her laboratories. Akiva. Lothal. Bar Neth. Tatooine. The entire Outer Rim could be tied to Tmela’s illegal business ventures, as well as her chemical influence. The holocomm beeps to confirm the transmission of his message and Obi-Wan allows himself to exhale. 

 

“Once we arrive at our first stop, scan various frequencies for talk of targeted ships leaving Bar Neth. I need to know if Tmela has eyes in other portions of the galaxy. I will not risk putting Naboo in danger,” he explains to R2, who chirps in agreement. Obi-Wan is hesitant to rely so heavily on the droid, but Anakin has routinely placed his faith in the clever blue astromech, so he allows himself to return to Anakin’s side.

  
  


He tangles his fingers with Anakin’s and holds on, letting himself sink onto the floor next to the medical bed. He closes his eyes and reaches out with the Force, trying to sense for danger in the form of a bounty hunter or Tmela’s hired mercenaries, but as he attempts to reach outside of himself, a pain at the back of his skull pulls him back to the cold metal floor beneath his crumpled legs. 

 

“Sir, I have managed to stabilize the patient’s blood levels and will begin properly suturing the poorly closed abdominal wounds.”

 

“Thank you,” he says, the words dissolving into a heavy sigh.

 

“Your medical work leaves much to be desired, sir.”

 

“I am well aware,” he finds himself laughing, although the situation is nowhere near amusing. Obi-Wan brings his free hand up to his mouth and stifles the urge of hysteria, focusing on steadying his breaths. The engines vibrate at a higher pitch right before they make the jump to hyperspace and Obi-Wan braces himself against the cabinetry. He only hears the beginning of the medical droid’s suggestion that he move to the sleeping quarters for treatment as well, because for at least twenty standard minutes, they are enveloped in the safety of hyperspace. That thought is enough. The interior of the ship begins to look fuzzy and Obi-Wan slumps against the bed, still holding onto Anakin’s hand as if it is the only thing tethering him to this reality.

 

 ---

 

Anakin is not awake when Obi-Wan rouses from his seat on the floor, but his left arm is caught up in a tangle of wires that seem to be feeding fluid back into his system. The medical droid stares at a comp screen displaying Anakin’s steady heartbeat and breathing, and when satisfied, turns to find Obi-Wan staring at him with squinted eyes.

 

“Ah, you are awake, sir. May I suggest you move to a bed where I may be able to tend to your wounds? Scans reveal that you have several blaster burns, dehydration, symptoms of shock, and the residue of an unidentified toxin in your system.” 

 

“Will he be okay?” Obi-Wan hates how his voice sounds when he says it, how hopeful and weak it is.

 

“That is to be determined. He sustained severe injuries that should have killed him, but with a combination of treatment and your inadequate attempts at healing, we should be able to transport him to a location with proper medical facilities without fear of losing him. I recommend a full submersion in bacta, sir.” 

 

Obi-Wan nods and stands slowly, letting go of Anakin’s hand and resting it on the man’s chest before making his way to the cockpit to check on R2.

 

“Where did you end up taking us to?”

 

R2-D2 chirps out a set of coordinates that Obi-Wan doesn’t recognize. 

 

“I’m afraid I’m not familiar with that system,” he tells the droid as he taps on the ship’s main console. “Anakin takes you on unsanctioned adventures more often than he cares to share with the Council, doesn’t he? I’m assuming you familiarized yourself with this section of the galaxy at his discretion,” he says, turning to give R2 a raised eyebrow. 

 

The droid just swivels his head in a nonchalant manner, making no noise but still managing to convey his stubborn resistance to sharing. 

 

“He’s sworn you to secrecy, has he?”

 

A twitter of beeps that sound like an amused chortle escape from R2.

 

“I’ll have to have a word with my  _ padawan _ ,” Obi-Wan laughs. He pushes himself away from the console and turns to head back to the medical bed. “If there’s no chatter about our abrupt departure, the bounty hunters and Tmela’s men must have missed us. You’re still in charge of the ship, R2. Set the navicomputer for the jump to Naboo.” He calls the words over his shoulder and smiles at the answering beep. 

 

Anakin’s eyes are barely open when Obi-Wan returns to the bedside. His skin is still pale with pain, but the properly sealed wounds on his stomach give Obi-Wan a reason to exhale the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. 

 

“Where are we?” Anakin asks, his voice hoarse. 

 

“On our way to a place R2 refers to as, ‘classified’. You know more than I do about what that means,” he says with a lilting humor to his words as he crouches down to be closer to Anakin.

 

He slowly turns his head to give Obi-Wan a soft smile that reaches his eyes, although the dark circles and glassy look make Obi-Wan wish he could pull him into a hug and never let go.

 

“You look like the back end of a bantha.” Anakin smirks.  _ A good sign.  _

 

“You should see yourself,” Obi-Wan retorts, the jibe completely nullified by the way his fingers brush the sweaty curls away from Anakin’s brow. Anakin’s eyes flutter shut at the gentle touches and he lets out a soft sigh. 

 

“You keep looking at me like I’m going to disappear at any second.”

 

Obi-Wan swallows roughly.  _ Because for a couple minutes, you did.  _ He doesn’t know whether he should even begin to explain what thoughts had run through his head when he held Anakin’s limp body in his hands. 

 

He doesn’t realize how long he has remained silent until Anakin’s cold hand grips his own. “I’m here now.”

 

Obi-Wan looks into those familiar blue eyes and finds that the words want to pour out of him. He stares at him, mouth parted but unable to make a sound. Anakin looks slightly confused but maintains the warm smile and even pushes a wave of comfort into their Force bond. It jolts Obi-Wan and suddenly he’s standing, mumbling something about contacting Senator Amidala about their imminent arrival on Naboo and rushing to the front of the ship, afraid to look back at the expression on Anakin’s face. 

 

_ He’s going to bring this whole thing down on us if we don’t eliminate him. _

 

_ You can’t kill him. I love him. _

 

The words of Tmela Avos and his own echo in his head. 

 

_ I love him. _

 

He brings up the holocomm console and connects to the senator, waiting for her to answer.

 

_ I love him. _

 

“Master Kenobi, always a pleasure to hear from you.”

 

“Senator,” he nods, choking back the declarations that tie knots inside his stomach. “A Nethian craft will be entering Naboo airspace within an hour. I would request that you grant Anakin and I access to your planet for a brief time before we return to Coruscant.”

 

The senator’s brow furrows in concern. “Of course, Obi-Wan. You two are always welcome here. Are you in need of fuel?”

 

_ I love him. _

 

His palms are sweating and this call is not distracting him enough. “Actually, we’re in need of medical attention. Anakin and I have been exposed to an unidentified toxin via contaminated drink, non-transmissible based on what I can tell, although you may want to assemble a decontamination team for our arrival.”

 

Senator Amidala’s blue holographic form wrings her hands briefly before straightening up again. “I will be sure to have medical supplies and a team ready for you when you land.”

 

“Padme,” he starts, certain his facial expression is giving everything away already. “Anakin may require full submersion in a bacta tank.”

 

She doesn’t respond right away, hands covering her mouth as if to smother words she might regret saying. And then she nods quickly, pulling a datapad into her hands from somewhere behind her. “I’m sending you coordinates to the best medical facility in Theed. I’ll meet you there.”

 

“Much appreciated, Senator.” He moves to shut down the console, but Padme’s voice disrupts him.

 

“Obi-Wan?”

 

He steps back, blinking quickly. “Yes?”

 

“Is he going to be alright?”

 

He sighs. “I think so. He’s stable at the moment.”

 

“Does this have anything to do with the transmissions we received from a Republic agent stationed on Bar Neth a few days ago?”

 

“It has everything to do with that, yes.” Obi-Wan runs a hand through his hair and pulls away in disgust, his usually perfect coif reduced to piecey strands streaked with blood. He can’t imagine what his face looks like after being drugged twice, knocking out bounty hunters, getting kicked in the face by Tmela’s pointed shoes, and  _ murdering  _ several mercenaries.

 

“You look like you could use some bacta as well,” the senator’s voice is soft with worry.

 

He brushes it off. “The medical droid on board hasn’t gotten its hands on me yet, that’s all.”

 

“Be careful, Obi-Wan. I’ll see the two of you soon.”

 

“Thank you, Senator.”

 

Padme’s small blue form winks away and Obi-Wan powers down the console.  _ Less than an hour until Anakin can get proper medical attention _ .

 

_ I love him. _ His body screams at him. Obi-Wan looks over to the door leading back to the cabin and his stomach flips. He takes a deep breath and crosses the threshold, unsure of what he’ll actually be brave enough to say but certain that he’s going off the deep end. 

 

Anakin has fallen asleep while Obi-Wan was busy talking with Padme, his head still turned to the side and one arm hanging slightly off the side of the thin mattress. Obi-Wan reaches through the Force toward Anakin, fully expecting to feel the same tearing pain as he did when they departed Bar Neth, but is surprised by the strength of the bond between them. It surges through him, ripping away at the clouded parts of his mind. The poison he had endured during Tmela’s interrogation relinquishes its hold on his body and he submits to the Force completely, seating himself on the floor of the cabin a few feet from Anakin’s bedside.

 

He eases himself gently into the Force and lets the energy of passing stars and planets course through him, as if he is no longer a being, but a luminous energy floating without boundaries like time and space. It is here that he finds the strength to tell Anakin the truth of his attachment.

 

It is truly attachment.

 

But he will not admit his love for Anakin out of fear of loss. It is with hope that they can strengthen one another, because Obi-Wan doesn’t know if he can go another day withholding the affection that bubbles inside of him; an endless reservoir of adoration and forgiveness he has never bestowed on anyone else.

 

He comes out of the meditation all at once, breath flooding his lungs and the hum of the ship’s hyperdrive like music to his ears.  _ We still have time before we get to Naboo. _ And Anakin is looking at him through slitted eyes, as if he’s just awoken.

 

“Master,” he whispers, looking pleased to find Obi-Wan beside him. 

 

“Anakin, I must tell you something.”

 

“If it’s important, maybe you should wait,” he speaks slowly. “The droid gave me a lot of pain suppressors to make the trip easier, but it’s making me kind of stupid.” Anakin blinks slowly, reaching a hand out to touch Obi-Wan’s cheek. “You’re beautiful.”

 

He feels himself blush, but doesn’t shy away from the touch. “You’d rather wait until later?”

 

“Yes. Now go shower or something. I know you’re worrying too much about my safety and probably haven’t let the medical droid take a stab at you yet,” Anakin gives Obi-Wan’s collarbone a slow poke. 

 

“Okay,” he answers in a whisper, nodding his head before rising to his feet once more.

 

The holocomm beeps, demanding his attention. As he powers it up, the short figure of Master Yoda appears.

 

“Troubling news you sent, Obi-Wan. Assistance, to Bar Neth I have ordered. Contact me, you will, once you and Skywalker have received medical attention. This Tmela Avos - a great danger she is.”

 

Obi-Wan sighs as the message finishes. He can sense the danger as well, and after everything they have been through, he recoils from the feeling. 

 

The weight of his unspoken words for Anakin pulls at his chest as he walks toward the ship’s ‘fresher, but Obi-Wan tries to take comfort in the fact that Anakin wants to be lucid to have that conversation.

 

They still have time.

 

He repeats the mantra in his head as he steps under the trickling spray of the tiny shower, bracing himself against the white plasteel when the warm water melts away the last of his resolve. He’s tired. A full night’s rest is not in his future with Anakin mangled up as he is, unable to keep the nightmares away.  _ Looks like I’ll be testing out Galira’s taste in caf _ , he thinks with amusement that quickly sours into sorrow. Galira had not been given the luxury of a partner, someone to watch her back like he was able to do for Anakin. 

 

_ Tmela will pay for what she’s done. _

 

\- - -

 

They arrive in Naboo space minutes after the medical droid finished applying a small bacta patch to the cut on his face, a cocktail of chemicals injected into his bloodstream keeping him on his feet despite the shock and exhaustion of their escape from Bar Neth. 

 

R2 rolls back into the cabin, chirping pleasantly about their arrival. Upon seeing his master hooked up to wires and lying prone on the bed, he quickens his approach and rolls to a stop next to Anakin’s head. R2 coos quietly and Anakin blinks awake, a bright smile forming as soon as he sees the blue astromech droid. 

 

“R2! Good to see you, buddy” he says, resting a weary hand on the dome-shaped top of R2. The droid lets out a displeased buzz and Anakin laughs. “I wanted to bring you with us, I swear. Yoda said it would jeopardize our cover.”

 

R2 lets out an indignant beep.

 

“R2,” Obi-Wan scoffs as he passes by the droid with a cup of caf in one hand. “Do you teach him this kind of language, Anakin?”

 

Droid and man both turn to look at him with equally unimpressed expressions.

 

“Who am I kidding, of course you do.” Obi-Wan shakes his head. “R2, I need you up front to help me pilot this thing into Theed. And you must stop referring to Master Yoda in that manner or he’ll have your memory wiped.”

 

A stubborn flurry of beeps and buzzes come from the cabin but R2 returns nonetheless, inputting coordinates provided by Senator Amidala for the medical center in Theed as they approach the upper atmosphere of the lush green planet. Obi-Wan guides the ship down to the landing platform and notices a cluster of beings suited in blue outfits that mask their faces. The senator had brought the decontamination team, as he had requested. The ship sets down with a gentle thud and Obi-Wan lets out a deep sigh, releasing the entry hatch from the pilot’s controls. 

 

The suited team guides a floating gurney up the ramp and into the ship, whisking past Obi-Wan to get to Anakin. Sets of hands lift him gently onto the stretcher and then he’s taken away, presumably to a decontamination chamber.

 

“Master Kenobi,” one of the suited individuals addresses him and holds out a hand, guiding Obi-Wan toward the exit. “We’re sending Master Skywalker to a quarantined intensive care unit for full bacta submersion, based on the ship’s medical droid records.”

 

Obi-Wan just nods, walking beside the man toward a sealed doorway. It hisses as the door slides open, repressurising before it engulfs them and emits a blast of sonic pulses that scours his skin. A second hiss sounds and they move forward into a pristine white space with people walking in every direction, all wearing the same blue suit as the being beside him.

 

“Your room is just down the hall.” A gloved hand on his back guides him to the left and as they pass the center hallway, he can just make out Anakin’s gurney being pushed into a separate room.

 

“Will I-“

 

“He will be joining you after his 24-hour submersion in the tank, Master Jedi. We would like to keep you for at least 48 hours for safety reasons, as well as to monitor the effects of the unknown poison you were exposed to. The Senator informed us that you ingested the poison?”

 

“Yes, I believe it was in the food or drink served to us about six standard hours ago.”

 

Obi-Wan takes a seat on the side of the bed in his room, watching as the suited person retrieves a small container from a cabinet in the corner. It rattles as he shakes out a single capsule and hands it to Obi-Wan in a disposable cup. 

 

“Swallow this. For internal contaminants.”

 

He doesn’t resist. The capsule goes down slowly and he winces.

 

“The side effects are quite severe, I’m afraid. You may want to lie down,” the suited person says as they slide a rubbish bin toward him. “It kind of purges your system.”

 

“Lovely,” Obi-Wan replies with more than a hint of sarcasm. The room lapses into silence as the person places a simple hospital gown on the bed next to him and leaves, shutting the white door behind them. He wishes for a brief moment to see Padme, to reassure her that they arrived safely, but a wave of nausea washes over him and he decides he’s grateful she isn’t there to witness the decontamination process. If only these people understood the powers of the Force, they would have realized the poison was purged from his system a half hour ago during his mediation.

 

He’s already wretched enough times today, but thanks to Tmela Avos, he finds himself losing his caf into the bin mere minutes after discarding his torn attire for the flimsy gown.

 

The experience exhausts him entirely, and eventually his eyelids droop shut against his will.

\- - -

 

Anakin wakes up in a hospital bed very reminiscent of the healing chambers in the Jedi Temple, spotless and void of decor. The window shows him a nighttime sky riddled with stars, quite pretty. The only light in the room is from a small lamp lit in the corner that casts a soft glow across the room.

 

He tentatively rolls onto his side and exhales when he realizes that his abdomen no longer feels like it was eviscerated. He reaches his flesh hand up to wipe the crusty remnants of bacta from the corners of his eyes and blinks a few times, studying his surroundings. Beside him is a rustling lump of white sheets and reddish hair - Obi-Wan. 

 

_ He must have fallen asleep from pure exhaustion. _

 

It had been a little over a full day since they’d arrived in the capital city of Theed, and Anakin couldn’t remember most of it. The doctors informed him that the reconstructive surgery of his abdominal cavity had gone smoothly, thanks to Obi-Wan’s patchwork job and being submerged in a bacta tank afterward. He couldn’t quite sit up without the stabbing pain, but his lungs were working normally again and his hands were steady. 

 

The Force seems to glow around him as he takes grateful deep breaths, and he spends a moment connecting with all of the movement around him, outside of the hospital room and down onto the other floors of the medical center. There is life everywhere; Naboo is rich with it. It reminds him of happier days spent learning about Padme’s family and her life as a young ruler, stolen kisses near the beach, tumbling around in the grass with her.

 

That was before the war, before everything got even more complicated. When his dreams were still dreams and not a reality he cannot face. 

 

He reaches for the only thing that keeps him steady.

 

“Obi-Wan.”

 

He doesn’t get an answer. The man is deep into what is probably a nightmare. His Force signature oozes discomfort and Anakin is surprised he has managed to be asleep for so long. With a huff, he pulls at Obi-Wan’s hospital bed with the Force and drags it closer to him, cords and all. It rolls within a meter of him and comes to a stop. Anakin reaches over with his right hand and shakes Obi-Wan’s shoulder, jostling the man out of his fitful dream. 

 

“Obi-Wan, wake up.”

 

His master finally responds, his body stiffening. He is rolled on his side facing away from Anakin, but he knows Obi-Wan’s eyes are wide, still seeing the terrifying images that linger in his mind.

 

“Master, I’m here. Everything’s okay.”

 

Obi-Wan flips over onto his back, chest heaving, “Did I pull you into my dream again?”

 

“No,” Anakin shakes his head, pressing his cheek into the pillow. “What was it about this time?”

 

“You.” Obi-Wan’s eyes are watery and Anakin feels an ache in his chest he can’t attribute to any injuries he’s sustained. “I never get to you in time and you bleed out in my arms. And no matter what I do, I can’t make it stop. I can’t heal you and you’re gone.”

 

Anakin can only offer a hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, but even that falls away as Obi-Wan wrenches himself up into a seated position, hunched over and staring down at his hands.

 

“Are you sober enough now, or are you still disoriented from the pain medication?” He doesn’t make eye contact with Anakin, as Anakin isn’t sure how to feel about it. And he doesn’t know what Obi-Wan plans to say.

 

“I’m due for another round of medicine, so now’s the most lucid you’re going to get out of me until we’re discharged.”

 

Obi-Wan nods and takes a deep breath, straightens up. “I realized something, when you were there, torn open and bleeding as I held you in my arms.”

 

Anakin’s breath catches in his throat.

 

“There were so many things I never got to tell you, so many things left to say. Wrongs to make right and apologies to be given. All of it is unfinished, just like when we lost Qui-Gon.” Obi-Wan finally turns his head to stare into Anakin’s eyes. “I can’t let that happen again.”

 

Anakin wishes he could sit up, but all he can manage is to shift his body slightly higher onto the stack of pillows beneath his head. Obi-Wan’s gaze burns him with an intensity he is unfamiliar with, almost making him look away.

 

“You are an attachment.” Anakin winces at the phrase. “I saw you in danger and I didn’t think twice. I cut those men down like it was nothing, and truthfully it felt like nothing. You were the only thing that mattered in the whole galaxy, from the moment you went missing. I could have apprehended Tmela, had her locked away right now, but instead she roams the galaxy, probably poisoning countless other innocent beings.”

 

Anakin’s cheeks begin to flush with shame and he loses his will to maintain eye contact. He begins to study the structure of the hospital bed as he braces himself for the blow, the admonishment for being a terrible Jedi.

 

“And I can’t bring myself to regret it. You would have died if I hadn’t found you then.”

 

Anakin is surprised when the tears well up in his eyes and start to drop onto the pillow beneath him. He had felt so composed, a little embarrassed maybe. But the tears keep coming, silently falling down his cheeks. 

 

“I put you in that position, Master. It’s my fault.” Anakin hears his own voice waver and cringes at his weakness. 

 

“Oh, Anakin. No, no, that’s not what I meant.” He hears the rustle of sheets as Obi-Wan untangles himself from them and hops down into the space between their beds. “Anakin, look at me.”

 

He blinks away tears but they just come back, and he doesn’t resist at first when Obi-Wan gently tilts his chin so they can lock eyes. Anakin sniffles softly and moves to reject the soft touch of Obi-Wan’s hand, shifting onto his back.

 

“This mission went horribly wrong but I am not blaming you for what they did. Your heart stopped beating for a couple minutes, Anakin.” Obi-Wan’s voice is barely a whisper when he says his next words. “I thought I was too late.”

 

“I was in so much pain, and I thought I was going to die in that stupid room, strung up like a puppet.” His metal hand grips Obi-Wan’s arm so tightly that he worries for a moment that he’s hurting him, but a sob spills from his lips and the tremors that come with it shake the thought from his mind. “I felt so alone.”

 

“I felt it through our bond, for only a moment, but it brought me to my knees. I only wish I’d gotten there sooner.” Obi-Wan sits down on the edge of Anakin’s bed, one knee brought up to rest on the mattress while his other leg dangles off the side. “I’m sorry I failed to protect you,” he says, frowning.

 

“You abandoned the mission to save me.”

 

“You would have done the same,” Obi-Wan says, and there isn’t an ounce of doubt in his voice. 

 

Anakin’s stomach clenches. “Because I’m not the Jedi I should be.”

 

Obi-Wan’s hands find Anakin’s cheeks and his thumbs brush the tears away with such care that Anakin can feel his heart breaking.

 

“And neither am I.” 

 

The words stun him, and he is unprepared for Obi-Wan’s lips on his own, pressing urgently. Anakin gasps softly, but quickly loses himself in the kiss. He responds to Obi-Wan’s insistence by moving his hand from Obi-Wan’s arm to his shoulder, tugging him impossibly closer. Anakin opens his mouth readily, moaning softly at the way Obi-Wan is moving his lips, capturing Anakin’s bottom lip between his teeth and sucking. His kisses lack the fire that usually grows between them, instead feeling as though he’s enveloped in gentle rays of sunshine. His skin blooms with a red flush that gives away how much he longs to taste every bit of Obi-Wan, and the flick of his tongue against Anakin’s melts him into the pillows beneath him. 

 

They break apart suddenly, sharing the hot air between them, staring into each other’s eyes with a million questions on their lips.  _ What does this mean?  _ It’s always the same one that pops into his head, but he’s too afraid to ask, to ruin the energy between them.

 

“Anakin, I love you.”

 

He blinks quickly, startled by the confession. “Yeah, of course, Obi-Wan. I love you too.” His cheeks turn pink. He hasn’t told his Master that since his early Padawan days, and if he’s being honest, now doesn’t seem like the best time to be saying it again.

 

“You’re impeccably oblivious, dear one,” Obi-Wan chides, giving him a smile that makes his heart skip a beat. “I’m  _ in love with you _ .”

 

“Oh.”

 

_ Oh. Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how'd it go? They really got the shit kicked out of them on Bar Neth, and now they finally get a chance to heal. I have more romance in store for these two, as well as some information on our villain Tmela. We only got a little bit of Padme this time, what a tease. Did you like R2? It was really fun to write him into the story. Lightens it up a bit when the boys aren't in the mood for jokes.
> 
> As always, let me know what you thought, what you liked, what you didn't. I appreciate all of the feedback and I love hearing when you are invested in the story. I always say this, but this fic is a far greater challenge than anything I've written before. Never done anything like this, but I'm loving it.
> 
> Thanks for stopping by! <3


	14. It is Hard to Love You Sometimes, Anakin Skywalker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoa, okay. I was sitting on the plans for this chapter for a long time, but couldn't figure out what Anakin was going to do. Yesterday, it kind of all came out. So I present to you, Anakin's response to Obi-Wan being in love with him, and the consequences of it all.

Obi-Wan is perched above him, all soft smiles and rosy cheeks. Anakin is too stunned by the words spoken to contemplate a response; his mouth is parted slightly, muscles slack with shock.

 

_I’m in love with you._

 

The words bounce around in his head, draw a breath from his lungs, make his hands clench around Obi-Wan’s thin hospital gown. Anakin only has a brief moment of excitement before his racing heart responds not to the confession of his Master’s love, but to the consequences certain to come from it. All of his training screams at him. _Attachment, fear, loss, anger, revenge, the dark side - I should not do this._ But his body says otherwise. _Closer, never let him leave. He is yours, you are his. He loves you. You love him too._

 

He’s still struggling to form words when he feels Obi-Wan pull away slightly.

 

“You don’t have to say it back, Anakin,” he hears Obi-Wan say, as though his voice is kilometers away. “I don’t want you to feel-”

 

“Master, please.” Anakin grips Obi-Wan’s hand before he can pull away completely. “I just-” he shakes his head and looks up to the ceiling, his eyes searching the tiles for answers that continue to elude him - “I just need a moment to process everything, okay?”

 

The older man nods and returns to his sitting position on the side of the bed, resituating their hands so that their fingers intertwine, pulled close to Anakin’s chest. Anakin can feel his own heart racing, pounding against his ribcage as his mind begins to run through the scenarios. Standing in front of the Council, shamed by the entire Order for yet another mistake, falling in love with his old master. They’d expel him, and Obi-Wan too. He can’t let that happen. The Jedi Order is Obi-Wan’s family. His breaths begin to speed up, panicked sips of air that make his abdomen ache in reminder of his wounds. _It’s all my fault._

 

“Anakin, everything is alright. Please tell me what is on your mind.” A thumb brushes over the back of Anakin’s hand and he snaps back to the real world.

 

“What about the Council?”

 

Obi-Wan’s brows are furrowed and his lips are drawn tight with concern, but yet he makes a quip. “I thought you didn’t care about the consequences?”

 

“That was before I found out that you feel the same exact way about me that I feel about you, Obi-Wan!” Anakin lets out a wheeze and blinks away the stars in his eyes. “I thought we would just, you know, have this unstated thing between us and I’d have to smother it like all of the rest of my emotions. To be a good Jedi.”

 

Obi-Wan scratches his beard and his lips twitch into a slight smirk, but his eyes look sad. “I’m beginning to realize that I’ve left one too many things unsaid.”

 

“The Council will kick us out of the Order.”

 

“If they must.” Obi-Wan nods.

 

“And that,” Anakin stares into those sad eyes, wishing that in this low light, he could see whether it is sadness at his regret for loving Anakin, or something else. “Doesn’t bother you?”

 

“When you were young, only a few years into your training as my Padawan, you confided in me that you wanted to leave the Order. You changed your mind, but if you hadn’t, I would have left with you.”

 

“But that was because of your promise to Qui-Gon, not because of me.”

 

“I don’t just promise to leave the Order for anyone, Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “And no, it wasn’t because of Qui-Gon. Do you think so little of our bond, even after all we’ve been through? I cared about you and wanted to protect you.”

 

“You didn’t even want me! Don’t lie,” Anakin’s voice quivers as the doubts escape him.

 

Obi-Wan flinches, but doesn’t break the contact between them. The Force swirls around him, a mix of pain that reminds Anakin of the nightmares. _What am I doing? Why am I ruining everything good in my life?_ He can’t stop the way his stomach flips, the way his mind tears down all of the happy moments as if they are holoframes on the wall. He sees days spent in their shared quarters, standing next to his master’s locked bedroom door, reaching out into their training bond and feeling such emptiness.

 

“Anakin, I wasn’t even a Jedi Knight. I had no idea what to do with a Padawan, let alone a nine-year-old with more midichlorians than Master Yoda.”

 

“So you didn’t want me.”

 

“I was afraid of failing you!” Obi-Wan grips his hand so hard, Anakin can hear the creaking of the motors inside his prosthetic. “He called you the Chosen One and every day I hoped I wouldn’t make the wrong choice or forget to teach you something and you’d end up dead. I’m still afraid of failing you, Anakin. You are the most important person in my life. So no, it doesn’t bother me if they ask us to leave the Order. You would still be by my side and that’s what matters most, as selfish as that sounds. You see now why I’m not the Jedi I should be?”

 

“I see,” Anakin looks away from Obi-Wan’s intense gaze, the man’s words washing over him like a cool wave in the ocean. “But my feelings for you aren’t the only reason I’m a terrible Jedi,” Anakin admits. His eyes flicker to the transparisteel window on the wall opposite their beds and sees a person in a blue protective suit, the clear plastoid mask revealing a very familiar face, and the reason being told Obi-Wan loves him makes him want to hurl instead of smile.

 

“Padme,” he whispers, and Obi-Wan also turns to look out the window. The older man frowns then, letting out a quick sigh.

 

“What does the senator have to do with this?”

 

“I may have -” Anakin prepares himself for the explosion - “married her after the Battle of Geonosis.”

 

Obi-Wan’s eyes suddenly widen to the size of Hondo Ohnaka’s saucer-shaped ships and Padme is peeking through the window, waving a blue-gloved hand and smiling, her brows downturned with concern. He turns away from the senator in the window to give Anakina shocked look. “What do you mean, you _may have_ married her?”

 

“We’re married. And it’s not going to be pretty when I tell her what happened on the mission,” Anakin gulps, feeling more and more like he should feign passing out from the pain of his wounds just to avoid the conversation coming his way. He sees Padme turn toward a group of other blue-clad medical workers, gesturing with her hands and looking at datapads. Obi-Wan is suddenly very close to his face, disgruntled and probably embarrassed. Anakin very much shares the mortification.

 

This close to him, Anakin can see the hurt that passes over Obi-Wan’s face as the truth of the matter sinks in. It’s only there for a moment and then it’s locked behind a stone cold frown of disapproval and the accompanying emotions are suffocated behind his shields. This is the master Anakin is used to, but doesn’t miss.

 

“We are not having this conversation in the hospital, Anakin. She probably thought you were dead,” Obi-Wan whispers hurriedly. His blue eyes are glaring at him but Anakin can’t seem to keep his heart rate from soaring at the proximity. _Curse you, Obi-Wan. Get the hell out of my face._ “And I can’t believe you’ve been married this whole time. We were intimate together in a shower!”

 

“Well sorry,” Anakin hisses. “I thought we were just having a moment!”

 

“Having a -” Obi-Wan leans back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sith spit, how many other Jedi have you been trouncing around in the showers with, hmm? Of course it meant something!” The older man shakes his head and runs a hand over his face in defeat. “As much as I didn’t want it to, it meant something.”

 

Anakin doesn’t respond, his heart fluttering in equal measure from the continued confirmation of Obi-Wan’s attraction to him and the impending collapse of his marriage. His eyes search Obi-Wan’s, looking for an answer, a suggestion - anything.

 

“What a mess,” Obi-Wan mutters.

 

Anakin lets out a sigh that verges on being a whimper, his body becoming overwhelmed by the amount of emotion inside him. His grip on Obi-Wan’s hand tightens, refusing to let the man he loves walk away after everything they’ve been through. Much to his dismay, his lip starts to tremble and he forces himself to look away, half of his face pushed into the fluffy white pillow behind his head.

 

“I can’t help you sort things out with your wife unless you are honest with her,” Obi-Wan says quietly. The voices outside their room are getting louder, a signal of their imminent entry. Anakin can hear the lilt of Padme’s voice and feels his throat close with panic. “But after you come clean, I will be here for you in whatever form you’ll have me. Even if that means only being your friend.” Obi-Wan reaches out and rubs Anakin’s shoulder gently, their bond flooding with comfort. It helps Anakin steady himself as the door to their room opens, admitting three forms in blue suits.

 

A doctor, a nurse, and a senator.

 

“Master Jedi, you are both cleared to leave the decontamination area of the hospital at this time. Senator Amidala has informed me that she has proper facilities for your continued care at her estate in the lake country?”

 

It is a kind offer from his wife, and Anakin had expected nothing less. _She deserves much better than me_ , he thinks to himself.

 

“That would be wonderful, Senator,” he hears Obi-Wan answer.

 

“Knight Skywalker?” Padme’s voice rings out from the speaker on her suit. She is worried about him. He blinks back the vestiges of tears from his eyes and sniffles quickly, opening his mouth to answer but Obi-Wan beats him to it.

 

“He’s in need of more pain medication, I’m afraid. His wounds are still far from healed.”

 

“Please, would you get him some before we leave?” Padme requests, turning to the nurse beside her. “It might be too painful to move him before it sets in.” She moves closer to the unoccupied side of Anakin’s bed and looks down at him with her lovely brown eyes, taking in his battered face covered in pink marks of healing skin. “I hope it will ease the pain, Master Jedi.” She is as composed as ever, the complete opposite of Anakin. “Does it hurt too much for the trip?”

 

“Nah,” Anakin chokes out. “It only hurts a little.” He’s lying. It hurts a lot. Not even counting the addition pain in his chest from everything else. _Force, take me now._ He smiles in an attempt to be charming. They look at each other for a moment, letting Obi-Wan discuss details with the doctor while they say with their eyes all of the things they can’t say out loud. It looks like apologies, it looks like acceptance. It looks like two people that see each other for who they are, flaws and all. Anakin hopes this doesn’t push Padme over the edge.

 

“I could have told you we were clean,” Obi-Wan grumbles. “We were able to purge our systems using the Force.”

 

“Of course, Master Jedi. Although I would have liked to know that information sooner. The capability to purge the poison from your system in this manner may give some clue to the type or structure of the poison itself.”

 

“We’ll be sure to pass that information along to the scientists working on it now,” Padme interjects. “I already have several labs investigating the evidence Knight Skywalker was able to transmit from Bar Neth a few days ago.”

 

The doctor nods and says no more to them. He turns away and types on his datapad before handing it over to the nurse and leaving the room.

 

“Wish I wouldn’t have had to endure the decontamination process at all,” Obi-Wan gripes, but returns to looking at Anakin. “I suppose we should get dressed?”

 

“In what?” Anakin croaks, looking around at the empty room.

 

“I brought clothing suitable for both of you,” Padme answers, brushing Anakin’s shoulder before she steps away from the bed. “They will be available once you leave the decontamination area. I’ll go prep the ship while they get you moved onto a gurney.”

 

“Thank you,” they both say and nod their heads in replacement of their usual courteous bow.

 

“Not a problem, gentlemen,” she says, her eyes holding on Anakin’s hand still tightly grasping Obi-Wan’s. Surprisingly, her face doesn’t fall. Instead, her lips upturn slightly as she walks away. Anakin can’t tell if he’s the victim of her practiced diplomatic face or witnessing her acceptance that something has changed between himself and his old master.

 

The pain of taking each breath doesn’t allow him to dwell on the subject. The nurse injects another dose of pain medication into a vein on his arm and the world becomes suitably fuzzy. Obi-Wan doesn’t leave his side until they reach the lake country.

 

\---

Obi-Wan walks the grounds of Varykino, admiring the plant life and expansive lake beside the towering stone walls of the Naberrie vacation home. He peers over the edge of a railing lining the walkway around the grounds to see a wooden dock with small boat, rocking gently against its moorings with each small wave coming ashore. There are feathered creatures in the trees, calling to each other in various songs, making the air seem alive with music. It makes him feel at ease for the first time since the mission began. After arriving at the castle of a home, Obi-Wan had quickly extricated himself from Padme’s presence, giving quick excuses about meditation. He hadn’t wanted to be around when Anakin awoke from his medically induced stupor. The young man had many things to tell his wife. _His wife._ The label attached to Padme makes an ache appear behind his eyes and he stops walking, pointing his head to the sky with his eyes closed. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and pushes the thoughts away.

 

It helps, however briefly.

 

Under the shadow of tree branches, he finds a place to sit cross-legged in the grass, quite a way from the stone path he’d followed. He can see the shoreline of the lake from his spot. _This will do._ Obi-Wan drops into meditation and lets the life around him envelop his senses. His skin buzzes with energy and the ache in his head quells. He can feel each lifeform around him, the tiny blades of grass and fish swimming near the surface of the water, the insects crawling on the tree leaves above his head and the creatures hovering in pockets of warm air in the blue skies beyond the forest canopy.

 

He is content to remain at this level, not sinking past the point of knowing his surroundings. It is not his intention to rest or sleep, only to touch the pulse of life on this planet. When he finally opens his eyes again, a brightly colored creature with broad wings and spindly legs is sitting on his arm. Its wings outstretched, it is no more than the size of his palm, and it weighs less than a feather. Obi-Wan has never seen this creature before, but it seems benevolent so he lets it stay. Soon, it flutters off and he watches its yellow and orange wings float away.

 

With a sigh, he pulls a holocomm from the pocket of the borrowed pants he received from Padme. They had been in the hospital for two days, which meant that the reinforcements Yoda promised to send would have arrived on Bar Neth. He codes the communicator for a message to Coruscant and waits for the connection to complete.

 

The small blue form of Master Yoda appears and the frown on his face disappears at the sight of Obi-Wan.

 

“In good health, it seems you are, Obi-Wan. Pleases me, it does to see that you are safe.”

 

“Indeed, Master Yoda. Anakin and I are recovering on Naboo at the courtesy of Senator Amidala.”

 

“A great friend to the Jedi, she is. Helping us, from the laboratories in Theed, as well. You have heard from them, have you not?”

 

Obi-Wan furrowed his brows. He hadn’t heard about their investigation yet and wonders if he should have. “I’m afraid not.”

 

“Worry, do not. The senator will take you there, when fully healed, you are.”

 

“What do we know about Lady Avos and her laboratories? Have the reinforcements landed in Upper Seles?” Obi-Wan asks, impatient to hear news of their mission.

 

“Bad news I have, regarding this subject.” Yoda takes a moment to think, looking away from Obi-Wan. It leaves Obi-Wan feeling nervous. _Something has gone wrong._ “Escaped,our enemy has. Taken with her, most of the evidence. Destroyed, the rest is.”

 

“Certainly there are still some things left to recover,” Obi-Wan says, grasping at straws. “What did she do? Burn it?”

 

Yoda nods. “Wanted nothing for us to find, she did.”

 

“I assumed she would take precautions,” Obi-Wan says, resigned. “Have you talked to a man named Noh Tersem?”

 

“In touch with you, he wishes to be,” Yoda says, calling a clone commander onto the holoscreen. “Send Noh Tersem’s communicator info to Master Kenobi, you shall.”

 

The clone acknowledges the order and disappears from the hologram, leaving the two Jedi watching each other intently. Finally, Yoda smiles slightly. “A threat to your life, this mission has been. Yet thankful, you seem to be.”

 

“They’re always dangerous, Master,” Obi-Wan smiles back. “If you’re feeling any gratitude from me, it is because the Force was with Anakin and me as we escaped.”

 

“Ah, but something more, there is.” Obi-Wan tilts his head, looking at the old Jedi Master’s blue form as it moves slightly in time with Yoda’s short chuckle. “Enjoyed being Sib Mihail, you did. Closer, with Anakin you have become.”

 

_How does he know that?_ Obi-Wan forgets to breathe for a moment, but there is a lack of disapproval in Yoda’s tone, which centers him. “Yes, Master. We learned a great deal from this mission.”

 

“Over, the mission is not. Hear from Tersem, you will,” Yoda’s voice returns to its strict tone.  “There is a greater disturbance in the Force. Mindful, you must be.”

 

Obi-Wan takes the warning into consideration as he signs off from the holocomm and slides it back into his pocket. Until he gets the information for contacting their helpful hotel clerk, Noh Tersem, he has nothing to do. It leads him to answer the call of the lake and strip his borrowed clothes from his body, taking care to avoid the tight bacta patches on his residual blaster burn marks. The first step into the water is chilled, but he gasps in delight and wades farther in, letting the water swirl around him. There is no one to see him, this far away from the rest of civilization and secluded from the view of Varykino’s many intricate windows. Obi-Wan takes a deep breath and dives into the water.

 

\---

Anakin wakes up in an unfamiliar bed and to rays of sunshine coming through a stained glass window that reaches from the polished marble floor to the vaulted ceiling. He blinks a couple times, forcing away the blurred vision of high strength pain relievers and napping for what feels like ten years.

Padme is sitting in an upholstered chair beside his bed, her bare feet tucked underneath her legs as she swiped through something on the datapad in her lap. At the rustled of the bedsheets, she looks up quickly and notices Anakin is awake. She smiles and it reminds Anakin of when they first met and he’d called her an angel. She is perfect and he is idolizing her again. He knows he is compelled by his guilt to feel like she is infallible, but can’t seem to convince himself it isn’t true. She sets the datapad aside and stands up, at his bedside in a moment and placing a cool hand on his forehead.

She brushes his hair away from his eyes and presses a gentle kiss on his temple. His heart aches for her.

 

“How are you feeling?” Padme asks him, her voice soft like the expensive sheets beneath him.

 

“Terrible,” Anakin admits, his voice incredibly hoarse.

 

“Would you like something to drink?” She suggests, but she’s already up and retrieving a pitcher from the corner of the room. “You were asleep for a long time.”

 

“Where’s Obi-Wan?” He asks, looking around the room.

 

“Outside, exploring the grounds most likely. He said he wanted to meditate.” Padme returns to his side, handing him a cool glass of water and caressing his arms. “You two seemed pretty banged up. What happened?”

 

Anakin winces and Padme picks up on it, her hands hovering over him as if she’s touched him wrong. He shakes his head and grabs her hand, bringing it the rest beside his heart. “Some hired mercenaries took me hostage and cuffed me with Force-inhibitors. They were trying to extract information about our mission and Obi-Wan had to rescue me.”

 

Padme just nods, her smile pained. “I’m glad you’re safe.”

 

“Apparently, I died while we were there?”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

“I died in his arms. Somehow he used the Force to bring me back.”

 

Padme stills, her spine straight and shoulders tense. “I thought Jedi could heal themselves? I’ve seen you do it before.”

 

“This was different, I think. You’d have to ask Obi-Wan. I was kind of, you know-” he looks at her with a weak smile. “Dead?”

 

“Ani, thank the gods you’re okay,” she gasps, pulling him into a hug despite his groans of protest. “I can’t believe I almost lost you.”

 

When she pulls away, she expects Anakin to be smiling again, like every other time he has returned home safely despite the odds. He knows what she’s thinking. But his eyes don’t quite meet hers anymore, and he looks toward the door. “Listen, Padme. Something else happened while we were gone.”

 

Anakin can hear his voice shake. His body is practically begging him to shut up, to avoid telling the truth and risk destroying everything. But he feels like he might suffocate if he doesn’t tell her, and he knows he deserves whatever backlash comes from it.

 

“I kissed Obi-Wan.”

 

“You what?” Padme blinks quickly, shaking her head. It was clearly not what she had expected.

 

“I kissed Obi-Wan.” _Let’s start small._

 

“And did he kiss you back?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Well, why did you do that?” She raises her eyebrow, not looking so soft anymore. This is disdainful Padme, the Padme that is five years wiser than him and not afraid of fighting a Jedi Knight.

 

“Because our room was bugged and our cover was that we were a couple visiting for the fancy gala, so we had to hop into the shower together to discuss reconnaissance tactics to avoid being heard and then..” he trails off, gesturing with his hand.

 

“You didn’t just kiss him, did you?”

 

“What makes you say that?” Anakin screeches incredulously, but the sound is high-pitched and Padme knows she’s caught him.

 

“You had sex with Obi-Wan, didn’t you,” she scoffs, running a hand over her delicately braided hair. She pulls her hand from his and walks away, starting to pace by the door to the balcony on Anakin’s left. He pushes up onto an elbow to see around the back of the chair she’d sat in, waiting for him to wake.

 

“Padme, please.”

 

She stops pacing. “You did!”

 

“Not exactly,” he tries to explain, but her eyes are sharp now, piercing right through him.

 

“You should have talked to me about this first before you decided to sleep with your old _Jedi Master,_ ” she stresses the words. “I don’t appreciate you going behind my back.”

 

“It’s not Obi-Wan’s fault,” Anakin says quickly. “He didn’t know we were married.”

 

“Didn’t?”

 

“I told him.”

 

“Anakin!” Now it is her turn to screech. “Is this no longer a discreet relationship? You’re just telling secrets to the whole Order now?” She turns back toward the balcony door, looking out the transparisteel with one hand on the button to open it. “Who am I kidding?” She mutters to herself and almost presses -

 

“Wait,” Anakin calls out. “What do you mean, I should have talked to you first?”

 

Padme sighs, her shoulders dropping. “I just meant, if you’d asked me if it was okay to have a more open relationship, it would have been fine. Recently, things have been tense between us. We don’t have to keep things the way they were when we got married years ago.” She looks back toward Anakin and he can see the hardness in her gaze start to wilt. “I want you to be happy, Ani.”

 

“I want you to be happy too,” he mumbles, his eyes starting to burn. He looks away from her and down at his hands, the metal one glaringly different without his customary gloves. He still hates it sometimes, and he holds onto that feeling to distract him from the tears of shame that roll down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

 

“But not sorry enough to promise you’ll never do it again,” she says, returning to his side. “You love him, don’t you?”

 

Her words only make the tears come faster, and the pain of holding back a sob makes him clench his teeth and ball his hands into fists. He curls in on himself despite the heat that flames at the closed incisions on his stomach.

Anakin feels so helpless, so torn between the two people he loves. He needs both of them, yet had been foolish enough to ruin his relationship with both. Obi-Wan had said he wouldn’t leave, but it was a lie. Staying beside the one he loves without the chance of requitement; it sounds like death to Anakin. He can’t wish that upon Obi-Wan.

 

So he nods, answering his wife. He loves Obi-Wan, loves him too much to let go.

 

“And he loves you back.”

 

Anakin doesn’t acknowledge her statement, but Padme rubs his back and hums. She knows it is true.

 

“It is hard to love you sometimes, Anakin Skywalker.”

 

The way she says his name makes his skin break out in a cold sweat. _Anakin Skywalker. Not Ani._ She distances herself with those words, although she is right beside him. Her hand continues to rub up and down as he cries into his lap, and when he finally runs out of tears, she hands him a box of tissues and takes the empty glass of water, leaving Anakin alone with his thoughts and the sunshine. She hadn’t slammed the door behind her, but she hadn’t peppered his face with kisses like she used to either. Anakin isn’t sure where they stand as husband and wife anymore, but isn’t brave enough to comm her to come back.

He sniffles softly and calls the datapad on the table beside him to his lap and begins to read. Not a romance novel, thankfully. In fact, it is the exact opposite. The files are full of graphs and numbers, dry scientific words strung in paragraphs that barely make sense to him. The comments on the side are more promising.

 

_Results of Initial Sequence Alignments_ , one file reads, a series of lines streaked with letters, some highlighted and others not. The lines go on forever and Anakin quickly gets bored. He scrolls until he finds a comment marked in red on the side. _It appears that several samples received from the Jedi Knight’s bio-data transmission contain a series of matching alterations to the protein below. Efforts will be made to analyze these mutants further._

Anakin continues reading, opening more of the files and perusing until he finds the matching sample identification number he had seen on the first file of results. _Reconstruction of the mutant and wild type proteins obtained from Akivan fruit samples have little difference. Both proteins exhibited normal folding and denaturation behaviors at listed pH values, ruling out digestion as an activation of unnatural folding. Enzymatic assays conclude that the proteins are identical in performance, suggesting the mutations are not affecting the functionality of the protein within the plant’s fruit itself._

So the scientists had assumed that this slight difference in the genetic sequence was responsible for the poison he and Obi-Wan had experienced while on Bar Neth. It was in the food, that much is certain to him. But not just from a fresh fruit, like these tests suggested. The poison was capable of lingering in something fermented, like the wine. The scientists on Naboo had continued to investigate other theories, but Anakin kept coming back to the same passage each time. He had been certain that the samples he’d stolen from Tmela’s greenhouses would contain some sort of clue to her illegal activities.

Now, he’s not so sure. The files begin to blend into one jumbled memory of big words and irrelevant data. _We’re missing something._ Anakin sighs, leaning back against the pillows heavily. The sun is beginning to set and he hasn’t seen Obi-Wan at all, although he’d received a comm message in the middle of his reading that said Tmela had escaped Bar Neth. The plants he’d been practically eviscerated over were apparently useless, the labs and greenhouses of evidence are destroyed, his wife is justifiably pissed at him for jacking off his old master in the shower, and the man who professed his love for him eight hours ago is avoiding him like the plague.

Anakin lets out an whine and swings his legs over the side of the bed. “Time to change the bacta,” he groans and heads to the ‘fresher.

\---

Obi-Wan is humming to himself, slicing green and red fruit while Padme stands opposite of him, peeling the skin off pale purple root vegetables with a practiced hand. They stand in companionable quiet, the sound of a bubbling pot of water and the occasional tick of a knife against the wood board beneath it are the only other sounds besides the nameless tune he continues to hum. He glances up from his work to give her a smile and is startled at a piece of root that comes flying in his direction.

 

“Sorry,” she mutters, retrieving the piece to place in the pile of inedible scraps. “Must have gotten a little too forceful with that one.”

 

Obi-Wan’s hands pause, the knife cutting slightly into a red fruit’s delicate skin. “Is Anakin awake? I sent him a message but he never replied.”

 

She just nods, continuing the shave the purple skin off the rounded root.

 

“I suppose you’ve talked to him then,” he says softly. Her eyes finally meet his and in them, he senses her sadness. “I’m sorry.”

 

Padme shakes her head and sets down the peeling tool on the counter. “Obi-Wan, I can’t blame you for anything. You didn’t know.”

 

“But that does not change the fact that I damaged your relationship with Anakin, and by doing that, I hurt you.” Obi-Wan set down his knife. “I am deeply sorry for that.”

 

“There are bigger things to worry about than where my husband spends his nights,” she says and it makes Obi-Wan’s cheeks burn with shame. “We still haven’t found out how this Tmela Avos is making her poison. It has the capability to influence people, as you mentioned in your message before. We have no way of combating that.” Padme picks up the tool again and begins vigorously peeling more roots. “Not all of us are so lucky as to have the Force as method of clearing our systems. We need a cure that works on hundreds of different species.”

 

“I agree,” Obi-Wan says, watching her work. Her hair is coming loose from its braids, dangling around her delicate face. Her jaw is set and she looks as resilient as she had in the ring at Geonosis, handcuffed to a chain and facing deadly creatures. He doesn’t pick up his knife and his inaction catches her attention. They lock eyes and Obi-Wan sees something in her that he's used to only seeing when he looks in the mirror.

 

She still loves Anakin Skywalker, despite everything he has done.

 

“We will find a way,” he promises, and Padme’s lips twitch into the smallest of smiles. Obi-Wan knows she sees it too; that same look in his eyes that he saw in hers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what your thoughts are. The mysteries are about to unfold and I really love them being at the lake house. I wish I could have gotten them here without the angst though, you know? Anakin really fucks things up, but I love him anyway. Can you tell?
> 
> And I don't know what possessed me to add some skinny-dipping for Obi-Wan but somehow he did it. You just can't plan for everything.


	15. Starvation is a Powerful Motivator

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anakin can't have his cake and eat it too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After having some plot detail issues to sort out, this chapter is finally ready! I think update should be pleasing for a lot of people. It certainly was for me. And the last portion was really fun to write! Let's jump right into it.

 

Anakin wakes up from the dredges of sleep to find that the sun hasn’t risen yet. He takes stock of his injuries, but he isn’t lying in a position that would cause any pain, so his sudden alertness is confusing. He rubs one eye and grabs the datapad on the table.  _ 0300,  _ he notes with irritation. Why the hell is he up so early?

He gets his answer when he hears a loud shout from somewhere close by. Anakin reacts on instinct, leaping from his bed despite his wounds’ protests. He calls his lightsaber to his hand as he walks toward the bedroom door. The sound is panicked. They must be under attack. He reaches out into the Force, feeling for disturbances in the darkness. They center around the room Obi-Wan had been using and Anakin’s stomach drops.

Without making a sound, he opens the door and stalks down the hall, lightsaber unignited in his right hand. As he gets closer, the sound happens again, shorter this time.  _ A scream.  _ Anakin’s heart is beating out of his chest, but his hands are steady as he comes to stop in front of Obi-Wan’s door. He touches the wall with his left hand, looking beyond it with his mind. He comes up empty. He doesn’t feel anyone but his old Master, although the disturbance continues. Suddenly, there is motion in the corner of his vision; a black shape at the end of the hallway, small and unidentifiable. _ They’re converging on us _ , Anakin thinks. He checks behind himself quickly to make sure another assailant isn’t close, then ignites his lightsaber. The figure stops.

“Anakin?”

The voice is not what he expects.

 

“Padme?”

 

“Turn that thing off, you idiot,” she hisses, holding a hand in front of her eyes. “It’s just me.”

 

“Sorry, I heard the noise and thought we were being attacked,” Anakin says quietly, turning off his lightsaber. He catches a glimpse of his wife’s concern before the hallway returns to darkness. “It’s Obi-Wan.”

 

“This is the second night in a row he’s been screaming in the middle of the night,” she whispers, walking closer to him. “I don’t know what to do.” Anakin is slightly disappointed when she stops a foot from him, keeping her distance. She hasn’t forgiven him yet, clearly. He longs for her soft touches, the ones that reassure him when he’s tense. He knows he doesn’t deserve them after what he did.

 

“He has nightmares. He told me about them while we were on Bar Neth.”

“Is there any way we can help?” She lets a tone carry on her whisper and it’s full of concern. Anakin gulps.

 

“I mean, talking? We tried a little bit of meditation last time and it seemed to take his mind off of it.” Anakin doesn’t tell her where that ended up leading, but by the waves of suspicious rolling off Padme, she seems to have made the jump herself. He hears her sigh in the dark, followed by a hand on his upper arm. There is a rustling sound behind the bedroom door and they both hold their breath, Anakin touching the Force to investigate and Padme just listening as close as she could.

 

“He’s up,” Anakin whispers.

 

“Go to him.”

 

Anakin draws his attention away from the door back to his wife. He can only make out the faint shape of her face in the dim light, but her warm hand on his arm is firm. She means what she says.

 

“He needs you,” Padme says softly and turns away, heading back to her bedroom. He listens to her feet pad on the decorative rugs until she reaches the stairs and descends. Anakin wishes she had stayed. Maybe they could have talked to Obi-Wan together. The thought is brief and he shakes it away. His hopes are too high. Padme and Obi-Wan were acquaintances, friends if he stretched it. After his colossal fuck-up handling his personal relationships, Anakin was surprised they would even agree to share the same space for meals. They certainly didn’t have to with the amount of space inside the Varykino lake house. 

Anakin can feel Obi-Wan’s attempts to calm the panic exuding from himself and decides it is safe to knock lightly on the door.

 

“Obi-Wan? Let me in, please.”

 

“I’m fine, Anakin. Go back to bed.”

 

“You’re not fine,” Anakin counters, barging in.”I told you to come to me if you ever needed a distraction from the nightmares.”

 

Obi-Wan doesn’t reply to that, but gives him an exasperated look. Their bond sighs with a thought that feels like  _ Really, Anakin?  _

 

“Padme told me to come in here.”

 

“That does not mean she condones the kind of behavior I allowed you to exhibit last time you insisted on helping me with my dreams,” Obi-Wan says curtly. He turns off the light in the ‘fresher and walks over the Anakin. “Go back to your room. I’m capable of meditating on my own.”

 

“No.” Anakin refuses and sits on the side of Obi-Wan’s bed. The sheets are in disarray, twisted and hanging off the side. He absentmindedly tries to straighten the portion next to him as he waits for Obi-Wan to join him.

 

He doesn’t.

 

“It’s not like I can go back to sleep either,” Anakin whines, looking up at the older man. “I thought you were about to get murdered when I heard you.” He holds up his lightsaber. “I came prepared to execute a Separatist assassin.”

 

Obi-Wan’s lip twitches as if he wants to smile. The bond flickers briefly and Anakin thinks he imagined it until Obi-Wan bends his knees and sinks to the floor. His master doesn’t have to speak; Anakin slides off the bed and onto the floor in front of him, legs tucked underneath him and hands pressed onto his thighs in the standard meditation pose Obi-Wan taught him so many years ago. Anakin closes his eyes and reaches out to the space between them, feeling Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force. They intertwine this way, sinking into a place of quiet with deep breaths. Something stops them from leaving their corporeal forms completely, Anakin notices as he tugs to let them meld into the living Force around them. It should have been easy with the amount of wildlife outside the house.

 

“What do you need?” He hears himself ask.

 

“You,” he hears Obi-Wan answer. It feels as if the Force is compelling him as Anakin holds out a hand into the space between their knees; feels Obi-Wan take it. Their bond almost burns, a pain in his chest not unlike the one coming from his healing abdominal wounds. The sensation is one of turmoil, of stifled emotions Obi-Wan has kept hidden for the sake of Anakin’s wellbeing. Anakin wishes he wouldn’t do that.

 

“Master, you’re hurt.”

 

“I’m not the only one,” Obi-Wan’s voice says, guilt echoing through the threads of their bond. The words are followed by an image of Padme in the kitchen, angrily preparing a dinner for them. It is from Obi-Wan’s perspective, Anakin realizes. “She needs you just as much as I do.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Anakin says as he watches this version of Padme.

 

“I’m not sure that will be enough,” Obi-Wan says, letting go of Anakin’s hand and drawing back into himself. Anakin opens his eyes and sees Obi-Wan’s eyes looking suspiciously glassy. “I fear that you will have to make a choice between the two of us.”

 

“No,” Anakin argues. “I will not choose one of you over the other. I love both of you.”

 

“And she’s just going to share?” Obi-Wan doubts him, Anakin can feel it. “She is a merciful woman, Anakin. But she feels used, as do I.”

 

Anakin gets up quickly, huffing in frustration.  _ This just isn’t fair!  _ He wants to grab one of the excessively ornate lamps and throw it onto the floor, lift the furniture with the Force and hurl it around, if only to convey the way he felt inside. He thinks better of it and instead, reaches for his commlink and calls Padme.

 

“Please come to Obi-Wan’s room.”

 

Padme’s bewildered and sleepy voice answers slowly. “What?”

 

“Padme. I need you right now. Please come upstairs.”

 

There is a pause, which he assumes is her considering her options. “Alright,” she agrees after a moment. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

 

“What are you doing?” Obi-Wan groans, walking toward the door. “I don’t want any part of -” he looks back and gestures toward Anakin. “What this is about to become.”

 

“You’re not going anywhere,” Anakin orders, grabbing Obi-Wan by the wrist. “Sit down.”

His old master doesn’t put up a fight. He just sighs and takes a seat on the edge of the bed, watching Anakin pace back and forth until Padme arrives, announcing her presence with a knock on the door before entering.

 

“What’s going on? Is something wrong?”

 

“Look, I’m almost healed,” Anakin starts, using a hand on her back to guide her to sit next to Obi-Wan on the bed. “And we have to find Tmela, arrest her, shut down her illegal agriculture business, and find a cure for the people she poisoned at the gala, if they’re still under her influence, which we have to assume is the case.”

 

Both of them are staring at him as he continues to walk back and forth.

 

“We are supposed to be a team,” Anakin says, looking at Obi-Wan, then at Padme. “The Republic needs us to be working together to save the kriffing galaxy for the millionth time, and I can’t seem to think of a single good plan because I’m distracted by both of you!” He pulls at his hair in frustration. “We need to figure this out now.”

 

“This couldn’t have waited until morning?” Padme sighs, looking at him with a slight frown. 

 

“And may I add that this whole situation is of your own making?” Obi-Wan quips, looking very uncomfortable.

 

Anakin glares at him and then whips away, his hands clenched at his sides. “Yes, I know that, Obi-Wan. And I’m trying to fix it.”

 

Padme and Obi-Wan turn to look at each other, both with raised eyebrows and expectant looks on their faces. Padme crosses her legs. “I’m listening.”

 

“I love both of you,” he says as he turns to face them. “And I don’t want to live without either of you - scratch that - I can’t live without you. But things aren’t working the way they are. Our marriage was a sham, Padme. We barely knew each other when we started and we barely see each other now because of the karking war.”

 

Padme’s eyes flicker toward the floor. Anakin continues, the feeling of releasing his feelings too addictive to stop.

 

“I care about you, I really do. And the state of our marriage in no way excuses my behavior, but I don’t want to save something that isn’t worth fighting for.” 

 

“What are you saying?” Padme asks, her brows furrowed in confusion.

 

“I think we need to start over,” he admits, letting his hands unclench finally. “When I left Coruscant, you told me we needed a break because my temper was out of control. I made you afraid of me. I can’t live with that.”

 

Padme is trembling now, tears streaking down her cheeks. Anakin knows it’s true. After everything that had happened with Rush Clovis, she had stopped looking at him the same way. He isn’t the conflicted nineteen-year-old that needed to be fixed anymore. He is twenty-two and the war has changed him. Padme nods her head and wipes the tears away with the back of her hand. “I don’t want to live with that either,” she whispers.

 

“You deserve much better than me,” Anakin says, moving to stand in front of her bent frame. He kneels, grabbing her shaking hands in his. A part of him screams to not let her go, but he knows it would hurt worse to force her to stay with him, to fear his outbursts and hold onto the resentment of his disloyalty. He had always seen her as an angel, pure and perfect. But Padme is only human, and she is breakable. The woman he loves takes a deep breath and looks at him through her tears with a determination he is familiar with.  _ She is not broken yet. _

 

“Stop letting me hold you back,” he tells her, squeezing her hands.

 

She nods and smiles, leaning forward to rest her forehead against Anakin’s. 

 

“I can’t promise to stop loving you,” she whispers, so close and yet so far from him. “But I can’t stop being angry with you either.” They stay like that for only a moment, then Anakin releases her hands and stands back. 

 

“I know,” he answers.

 

She rises and wraps her robe around her tightly, looking at the two men without saying anything. Anakin closes his eyes and holds his breath, his face scrunched up against the burning sensation of oncoming tears as Padme leaves the room, shutting the door quietly behind her. When he opens his eyes again, Obi-Wan is staring at him, concerned and bewildered.

 

“I know you don’t trust me, but I feel like I have to explain that I didn’t know the depth of your feelings, Obi-Wan. I would have told you about Padme if I’d thought-”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me anyway?” Obi-Wan asks, hurt bleeding into his words. “I thought you trusted  _ me _ .”

 

“It was just so much, after Geonosis and the start of the war. I was angry and still a Padawan. And I thought you’d turn me in,” Anakin shrugs. He sits down next to Obi-Wan, leaving a foot of space between them. “But I really underestimated you, my old master.”

 

Obi-Wan scoffs, his lips twisting into a wistful smile. “I can’t help but feel like you chose me over your wife. I don’t know if I approve of that.”

 

“I didn’t choose you over her. I chose her happiness over my own. I still love her but-” he stops, looking down at his hands - “Love isn’t always perfect, and my love for her was hurting her.”

 

The two men lapse into silence and Anakin notices the way the moonlight has shifted since he first entered the room. Morning is coming, and with it, a tour of the laboratories in Theed that are entrusted with deciphering the components of the poison.

 

\---

They are in the middle of a discussion with the lead scientist of the mycotoxin department when Obi-Wan’s communicator goes off.

 

“Excuse me,” he says quickly, stepping away from his companions and toward an unoccupied corner next to some shelves of glassware. Obi-Wan pulls the holocomm out and activates it. Noh Tersem’s image appears, although pixelated. 

 

“Master Jedi,” the man says, bowing slightly.

 

“Noh Tersem,” Obi-Wan nods. “Update me on the situation in Seles. We’re still having no luck here on Naboo. The scientists are at an impasse after finding nothing wrong with the plants Tmela was selling to Akiva and Lothal.”

 

“I can’t say the situation is much better here,” Tersem replies, looking behind him. “We’ve recovered everything we could from the incinerated remains of Lady Avos’ laboratories, but it isn’t much. We have extracted an incomplete list of crops Tmela was selling to neighboring worlds, which could be of some use to us. And a couple samples of food items served at the event.”

 

“That’s good news,” Obi-Wan says. “Send samples to the labs here on Naboo as soon as you can. If the poison she used was in any of them, we’ll find out.” He turns and gestures to Anakin with a hand. The young man raises an eyebrow but excuses himself from the scientific discussion in order to join Obi-Wan. “Is it possible for us to place an embargo on processed foods made at Tmela’s facilities for the time being?”

 

“On Bar Neth? Sure. We’ve started the process of removing her products from markets in Seles already. After the news of her collusion with Separatists, it was easy to get the city behind a boycott of sorts.”

 

“I was thinking of something larger,” Obi-Wan mutters, stroking his bearded chin. “In order to protect potential target worlds in the Outer Rim, we must enforce some sort of ban on the foods and drinks she is shipping to other planets.”

 

“Most of them aren’t a part of the Republic,” Anakin chimes in. “It would take more Jedi than we have to hunt down her ships without help from the local governments.”

 

Obi-Wan grimaces and stares through the hologram as he thinks. Anakin is right, although Obi-Wan wishes he wasn’t. Half of the Outer Rim was currently being sieged by the Separatists and the other half was trying desperately to hold onto what little resources remained in that part of the galaxy, bowing down to the Hutts if need be.  _ Starvation is a powerful motivator _ , Obi-Wan reminds himself. Tmela’s production lines reached to many planets, too many to cut off completely. They would starve before the Republic could come up with enough alternative food sources to offer the affected worlds.  _ This is part of her plan. _

 

“She has disappeared from the Outer Rim, but she continues to haunt us,” Tersem speaks the words that Obi-Wan had thought. “Without knowing the power and source of this poison, there is no way to combat it other than preventing its entry via any of her products.”

 

Anakin and Obi-Wan share a defeated look. 

 

“The best we can do is announce a recall on the Holonet and hope it doesn’t disrupt food supplies in high-stress areas, until we can narrow down the affected products,” Obi-Wan suggests.

 

“On the bright side, the scientists here in Theed concluded that there wasn’t anything dangerous in the plant samples I sent them, collected from Tmela’s laboratory before she left. The seeds she was exporting should be safe, just not the packaged food,” Anakin adds.

 

“That might make things manageable,” Obi-Wan notes. “Anakin and I will report to the Council about a ban going into effect.”

 

“Master Jedi, we also searched the hideout you located outside the city limits,” Noh Tersem says, reaching to take a datapad being handed to him. “It looks like they had the same type of weapons used by an unidentified group to secure a mining colony the week before your arrival.”

 

“They’re collecting all sorts of metals, probably to build more processing factories underground,” Obi-Wan postulates. “I overheard them talking about iridium when we paid them a visit.”

 

“Not just iridium,” Anakin said quietly. “Keftite. Loads of it. Apparently it’s a growth enhancer for the crops and they’ve been taking over mining operations in the surrounding space just to get more of it. I talked to a Falleen woman during the gala and she mentioned the threat to her mine’s operations.”

 

“All of this weaponry just for growth enhancers?” Tersem doesn’t seem to believe what he’s hearing from Anakin. Obi-Wan has to agree, things aren’t adding up. “What makes you think this Falleen was telling the truth? She could be in league with them, just like any of the other guests of the hotel.”

 

“Impossible,” Anakin replies. “We were all under the influence of that poison. It compels you to lower your inhibitions and share things you wouldn’t normally talk about.” Anakin’s eyes darken as he thinks back to the night of the gala. Obi-Wan remembers the way they had danced as if no one was watching and how it was so easy to talk to anyone, about anything at all. “The keftite might be a way of tracing Tmela’s activities.”

 

“Finding Tmela is important,” Obi-Wan pauses to look at Anakin. “But we need to focus on the poison first.” 

 

“I have a feeling it’s all connected,” Anakin admits, and the words suddenly pull images from the back of Obi-Wan’s mind, clicking together like a puzzle piece finding its match.

 

The behavior of the people at the gala, being herded back to their rooms in such an orderly fashion, but without the individual comprehension they would have otherwise needed to navigate the confusing halls of the hotel. The compulsion to follow, to listen to orders, to leave everything behind at the drop of a hat connects to his memories of sitting on the cracked wooden floor of an abandoned cantina in the middle of a deserted town nestled against a mesa. 

_ We’re lucky they decided to pack up without taking all of the food.  _ His own words echo in his mind. The feeling of concern returns to his body as he stands there in the laboratory.  _ The villagers must have had to leave without warning for them to carelessly abandon resources in a place like this. _

 

“Anakin. The abandoned town we stayed in. Where was it?”

 

“South of Seles. Why?”

 

“Tersem,” Obi-Wan’s mind is suddenly a flurry of thoughts, his voice becoming sharp. “There is an abandoned village somewhere between Lower Seles and the smuggler’s base you searched. I need you to take a team of clones and scientists with you to the area and search the soil for signs of keftite. Send samples of any food you find in the homes”

 

“Tmela used the village to test out her poison, didn’t she?” Anakin catches onto Obi-Wan’s train of thought quickly.

 

“I think so.” Obi-Wan’s stomach turns with worry, but his heart is pounding at the chance of uncovering more information. “She may have convinced them to buy seeds from her by promising cheap food to keep them going until the crops were ready.”

 

“Just to melt their brains a little each time they ate a meal made with any of the provisions she gave them,” Anakin says sadly.

 

“I will assemble a team right now, Master Jedi.” Noh Tersem nods before signing off.

 

Obi-Wan watches as the hologram fades away and then looks to Anakin. The younger man has a doubtful look on his face. A raised eyebrow directed at Anakin gets him to voice his thoughts.

 

“I’m still disappointed the samples I picked from the greenhouses weren’t more useful.”

 

“You may have just picked the wrong kind,” Obi-Wan guesses, trying to reassure Anakin. “With the way the townspeople left, I bet whatever remains of the food in their homes, in addition to the ones served during the gala, will be enough to narrow down our list of culprits. And don’t forget, we were able to rule out the fresh produce by the results of the tests on your samples.” Obi-Wan smiles. “It was still vital information to have, Anakin. We’ll be saving a lot of people from going hungry unnecessarily.”

 

Obi-Wan turns to look at Padme and the lead scientist, both of whom were still looking at holograms of reconstructed molecular structures and talking quietly. He doesn’t think talking to mushroom specialists will lead to any promising breakthroughs on the nature of the poison, but at this point, he’s willing to listen to anyone with ideas. 

 

“I think we should begin to locate potential targets for Tmela’s smuggler gang while we’re stuck on Naboo,” Anakin suggests, stepping into Obi-Wan’s space. “We could intercept them and learn more about Tmela’s location.”

 

Obi-Wan smiles at the idea of using his lightsaber for some aggressive negotiations and glances down at Anakin’s stomach. “Are you cleared for that sort of activity?”

 

“Almost. Another two days, according to the medical droid at the house.”

 

“I don’t know about you,” Obi-Wan looks up to meet Anakin’s gaze. “But I’m out of practice after all of our sneaking around.”

 

Obi-Wan can hear the way Anakin’s breath catches in his throat because of how close they are. “Sparring match?” Anakin tenses with excitement, a devilish grin on his face. His anticipation is infectious and Obi-Wan can’t help but laugh a little.

 

“When we are finished here,” Obi-Wan reminds him, placing a hand on his back and turning him toward Padme. “Time to visit with the botanists, Senator?”

 

Padme looks at the chrono on the wall and winces. “Yes, of course.” She flashes the mycologist a bright smile. “Thank you for your work, Dr. Varkas. Continue to keep me updated on your progress.”

 

“Yes, Senator. A pleasure to aid your cause.” The scientist responds as the three of them hurry out of one laboratory and into another. 

 

Obi-Wan can feel the way Anakin practically hums with energy as they speak with each specialist. _ He clearly isn’t focusing on the task at hand. _ In an attempt to make him focus, Obi-Wan sends Anakin off to report to Council about their idea to recall Tmela’s food from Outer Rim markets, while he stays behind to talk science. Obi-Wan takes it upon himself to file away the theories and nod appropriately at graphs, but fails to ignore the way Anakin brushes against him when he returns from making the call and continues to give him quick smiles during the dull moments of the meetings.  _ Dull moments,  _ he muses, looking at Anakin out of the corner of his eye.  _ There aren’t many of those at all when you’re the center of Anakin’s attention. _

 

\---

Anakin is practically jumping out of his skin by the time their speeder arrives at the landing pad at Varykino. Padme gives him a look as he leaps out of the seat without opening the door and Obi-Wan rolls his eyes. 

 

“Do you have somewhere to be, Anakin?” She asked, opening her own door slowly after grabbing her discarded overcoat from the middle console.

 

“I promised him some lightsaber practice,” Obi-Wan tells her, offering her a hand and helping her out of her seat. “Excuse his absolute disregard for civil behavior.”

 

“I think I’ll avoid being an audience for now,” she speaks only to him, too quiet for Anakin to hear from the other side of the speeder. “After all of this discussion of toxins and poisons, I’m feeling a little exhausted.”

 

“Comm us if you need anything,” Obi-Wan offers, letting go of her hand. It’s a good sign that she accepted his help out of the speeder at all. He had been worried she would reject his presence after their discussion early in the morning. “Enjoy a nap, maybe?”

 

“Maybe I will,” she says, smiling at him. “And enjoy your practice.”

 

Obi-Wan nods and watches her retreat to the house. Anakin is staring at him, probably wondering what had transpired between them, but surprisingly, he doesn’t ask about it.

 

“Coming? I know the perfect spot in the gardens,” Anakin calls before walking off toward the west side of the house. He discards his robe as he goes, removing his lightsaber from his belt and twirling it in his hand. Obi-Wan shakes his head at the blatant attempt to provoke a surprise attack. Obi-Wan sheds his own robe and sets it on the stone railing near the entry to the gardens. His lightsaber hilt is a familiar weight in his hands and he relishes in the feeling of being able to use it properly again. The last time he’d wielded it, he’d ended several lives quickly and brutally. Now, it was time to have a more civilized battle with his favorite opponent.

Anakin has disappeared into the gardens and Obi-Wan smiles. He reaches out into the Force and feels around for his former Padawan’s bright energy, even though he knows it’s futile. Anakin always hid his force signature from Obi-Wan when they sparred to make it more difficult. Otherwise, their moves were too obvious to each other. Obi-Wan had blocked off his own signature as soon as he set down his robe. He left his lightsaber off, stepping without sound as he approached a widened area. A fountain was splashing lightly in the middle, various shrubs and flowering plants decorating the sides. Old and crumbling stone pillars were mixed in with the plant life, allowing the perfect place to ambush someone.

Obi-Wan creeps closer, listening for any sound of movement. He slows his breathing and follows a path of depressed grass spots, the only indication that he isn’t alone in the gardens. The Force screams to him seconds before Anakin appears behind him, lightsaber coming down for a vertical strike. Obi-Wan ducks to the side into a roll that brings him up against one of the pillars. He ignites his lightsaber quickly to defend against a side-swipe from Anakin, pushing back against the brute force his former Padawan is famous for. 

Obi-Wan lets go of the hilt with his left hand and pushes his palm outward, drawing the Force into a push that sends Anakin back several feet. The grass tears up under Anakin’s boots but he sticks the landing, a vicious smile on his face. Obi-Wan just winks and sprints for the fountain. Anakin follows, both of their legs fueled by the Force. Obi-Wan darts to the side as he approaches the circular fountain, but Anakin leaps, landing in front of him to swipe at his head. Obi-Wan doesn’t retreat this time, spinning and blocking the strikes as they come. Anakin has certain habits and Obi-Wan knows them better than anyone else. The younger man is focused on attack, often neglecting the amount of strength needed in reserve when the tables turn.

They are close, blue blades clashing against each other in quick succession. Their feet dig into the soil around the fountain base as they force their body weight into their struggle. Obi-Wan takes a swipe at Anakin’s left side and feints an arc toward his head, and as Anakin leans back, Obi-Wan delivers a kick that knocks Anakin’s feet from under him. Obi-Wan capitalizes on the moment, bringing his lightsaber blade down toward Anakin’s throat to signal his victory, but Anakin snarls in frustration and rolls away from it, calling his dropped lightsaber back into his hand.

Obi-Wan can feel his chest heaving as they continue their battle, darting around the gardens. Anakin even manages to escape his strikes by jumping onto the top of a cracking pillar. It earns him a raised eyebrow, but when Anakin refuses to come down, Obi-Wan sits down in the grass and pretends to meditate, just to get on Anakin’s nerves.

 

“You’re no fun,” Anakin whines, swinging his saber in circles at his side. “Get up here.”

 

“No enemy in their right mind would challenge you on that small of a platform, Anakin.”

 

He opens his eyes to see Anakin trying to call his lightsaber into his other hand and scoffs, picking it up off the grass beside him. “If that’s how you’re going to be,” he laughs, jumping onto a neighboring pillar. The bits of stone near the edges shiver and dust coughs out of a crack next to his right foot. “This is not sturdy at all.”

 

“Too weak to challenge me, old man?” Anakin taunts from his pillar.

 

“Too smart to risk ruining the lovely Senator’s gardens, more like.”

 

Anakin just snorts and jumps toward Obi-Wan, his lightsaber hilt in his right hand at his side. Obi-Wan expects him to go for a side strike, but Anakin just lands on the pillar and continues toward him, blade pointing away. He tackles Obi-Wan and sends them tipping off the edge of the pillar’s platform and onto the flower bed beneath it with an “Oof!”

 

Obi-Wan is up first, stumbling away from the crushed purple flowers and laughing. Anakin stays on the ground a bit longer, groaning and holding his stomach. “Bad choice,” he croaks and rolls off the mound of soil.

 

“Alright there, Anakin? Getting a bit too..” he pauses as Anakin locks eyes with him. “Old?”

 

Anakin just smirks and hops to his feet, giving chase as Obi-Wan returns to their main staging ground in front of the fountain. He blocks an attack from the right, twirling his blade around to carry the momentum into his strike at Anakin’s leg. They meet blades between each other, both panting and covered in sweat and dirt. Obi-Wan goes for a stab at Anakin’s left shoulder and Anakin spins away. Obi-Wan follows and they switch positions, Obi-Wan forcing Anakin closer and closer the edge of the fountain. He’s reading every one of Obi-Wan’s strikes with impressive speed, parrying and returning the strike with one of his own. But what he fails to notice as he focuses on getting the upper hand is how close his heels are to the fountain’s rounded side. It’s all he needs to know and he waits until Anakin is shifting his weight to block Obi-Wan’s blade from knicking his ribs to give him a gentle push with the Force.

Anakin steps back, thinking there is room behind him, only to find his feet against stone, his body weight continuing on despite that realization. He falls into the shallow water of the fountain with a curse, letting his lightsaber fall from his hand in a last ditch attempt to keep it dry. Obi-Wan laughs, flicking his hand at it to help it clear the fountain’s edge. Anakin’s body sends a splash over the side and Obi-Wan jumps back quickly. When he looks up, Anakin is soaked, wiping his wet hair out of his eyes with a grimace. It doesn’t last long though.

“You wouldn’t,” he says, but Anakin is grinning like a loth cat and Obi-Wan doesn’t like that look at all. He doesn’t have the chance to move away before his body moves against his will, his feet lifting off the ground. Anakin’s arm is outstretched, calling the Force to his hand and pulling Obi-Wan toward the fountain.

 

“No, no, no,” Obi-Wan starts to plead, although there’s nothing he can do. Anakin is much stronger than he is when it comes to the Force, and the only resistance he can grasp is the air. Anakin pulls Obi-Wan over the side and into the water with a cackle.

 

When he sits up in the water, Anakin is beside him laughing. Obi-Wan spits water out of his mouth and huffs, wiping the drops of water from his eyes. 

 

“At least we got the dirt off,” Anakin says, looking down at his clothes. Obi-Wan chuckles, looking at his own tabards and Jedi robes. 

 

“We just got these sent from the Temple and now we’ve ruined them.”

 

“We? You pushed me in first,” Anakin protests, splashing gently in Obi-Wan’s direction.

 

“What can I say, I miss the deep neckline of a nice summer chemise,” Obi-Wan jokes and they both giggle. “I needed an excuse to wear one again.”

 

“Well it worked,” Anakin says as he stands up, offering a hand to Obi-Wan. He takes it, wincing and laughing again at the way his robes sag with water. They both look like wet miserable ack dogs, but Obi-Wan can’t seem to mind. Anakin is looking at him with the brightest smile, his blue eyes warm with unabashed fondness. Obi-Wan gets the sudden feeling that he doesn’t want to be anywhere else and pulls Anakin by the collar of his wet robes, bringing their lips together.

Anakin gasps at the contact and Obi-Wan wonders if it’s too soon, but Anakin’s hands wrap around his waist and pull him closer, pressing their bodies together. His lips are cold against Anakin’s from falling into the fountain, but he finds it doesn’t matter as their tongues meet. His hands move from their grip on Anakin’s collar to tangle in his hair, drawing a moan from the younger man. The sound makes Obi-Wan’s body flush and he finds that he wants to hear it again. Anakin has a similar idea, grinding his hips into Obi-Wan’s and breaking off the kisses to leave bites on his neck. He forgets to breathe, lost in the sensation and clutching at Anakin to keep his knees from buckling. Their bond is blazing hot with desire, relief at finally being allowed the chance to touch again, and a hunger so deep that Obi-Wan aches. He whines and finds Anakin’s lips again, not ready to give up the sensation.

When they finally break apart to take a breath, Anakin presses their foreheads together, reluctant to give up the delicious proximity. Obi-Wan lets out a breathy laugh, hands still in Anakin’s hair. He can feel a drop of water on the tip of of his ear and it reminds him of how ridiculous they are. Its as if the Force hears him and suddenly the fountain’s slight trickle of water becomes a giant spray that reaches the outer edges of the circular base, raining down on the two of them.

 

“For kriff’s sake,” Anakin mutters, pulling Obi-Wan into a kiss again. “Why do we always end up kissing in places like this?”

 

They look up to the tallest layer of the fountain at the same time and laugh, standing there in the cool spray for another moment.

 

“It is kind of amusing, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan comments with a smile. 

 

Anakin doesn’t answer, but leans in to give him a slow kiss that makes Obi-Wan’s toes curl. He wants so much, much more than he is capable of expressing, but as he pulls away, he has no doubt that he’ll spend the rest of his life trying to make Anakin understand how much he loves him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, how do you feel?
> 
> Thoughts on Padme? Thoughts on Anakin and Obi-Wan? The relationship stuff is at the forefront for the time being, but more plot chapters are in our future. It's a good thing I love writing about lightsaber fights, because once Anakin's wounds heal up he's going to slay some bitches.
> 
> I foresee a certain someone spending the night in Obi-Wan's room next chapter hee hee you'll never guess
> 
> Thanks to theunethicalscientist as always for whipping me into shape and talking to me for hours about getting the mystery plotline in order. I'd never make it otherwise <3

**Author's Note:**

> Tune in next time on #Trash.
> 
> P.S. I have a [main tumblr](http://lacontradictionvivante.tumblr.com/) and a [kenobi stan](https://kenobiapologist.tumblr.com/) account so talk to me if you'd like!


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